#llama posting

[lluminousllama]

All commission slots for sketch pages have been taken, however I still have 4 full-body sketch slots available if anyone is interested in one! Just DM me or email me inkling4artist@gmail.com!

More info about commissions here!

[devilart2199-aibi]

Fishy Business 🐟

[skumhuu]

Proshipper = you're against censorship and harassment over fiction & curate your experience on the internet to have a healthy distance from things that make you uncomfortable

Antishipper = you're okay and even encourage harassment towards "freaks" and "weirdos" society deems acceptable to hurt

[insightfulllama]

The first of four Magnus Archive posters I made for a school assignment - The Vast.

[mochiwrites]

gentle touch of morning

( a small scarian epic au piece <3 reblogs do more than likes! )

It’s funny. 

Over the twelve long years Scar spent fighting, leading his men into battle, the thought that kept him going was his eventual homecoming. Every waking thought was of his husband and son, and Scar’s reason for living, for breathing, was his family. As he sailed rocky waters, faced monsters and gods alike, lost men after men, Scar wished for nothing more than to be home, to awake with his husband sleeping beside him. 

But as he stands in his home, the one he most intimately knows, Scar feels… wrong. Out of place. He’d woken up early, savoring the sight of Grian’s sleeping face (he could never get tired of it), and felt so restless that staying in bed for any longer seemed impossible. So Scar took to walking around his home. 

He and Grian built this place up, together. The memories are some that Scar looks back on fondly. He could never forget it, no matter how much time he spent away from it. Scar only fears that it has forgotten him. 

Scar takes easy steps, walking and reacquainting himself. He notes the pictures, most of them being of his son. He hardly sees Grian in any of them, perhaps one or two, less than a handful. And the ones that Grian is in, his smile doesn’t light up his face. It makes Scar frown. 

He wanders for a bit, traversing each winding hallway with careful movements. It’s as if he fears the house may collapse at any moment, or some attacker may jump from the shadows, perhaps a god will catch him off guard and finish him off. Not even in his home does he feel the full safety he’s supposed to. These walls feel foreign, unfamiliar. Even if he can picture everything clearly in his mind, knows this place like the back of his hand. Scar still feels like a stranger. 

Eventually, he finds himself in the kitchen. He pauses in the doorway, catching sight of another person. 

His son. 

His little Pitta. 

Well, not as little anymore, as a young boy at fourteen. But to Scar it still feels like he’s just an infant that he could cradle in his arms. Another thing time robbed him of. So many missed moments, opportunities, to watch his son grow. And while Scar knows that there are still many years to come, to see, a piece of him mourns the time he lost.

For a moment, Scar keeps quiet. He watches his son, taking in his dark brown hair and hazel colored eyes. He’s the striking image of both Scar and Grian somehow, even if they aren’t related to him. But Scar loves him all the same; would move mountains to give him whatever he needed. He can’t help but wonder what kind of person his son is, what he likes and dislikes. Does he resent Scar for leaving? Does he consider Scar his father, or a stranger who left a loving husband alone for years on end? He doesn’t want to find out. Not now. 

Scar stands there until he can’t anymore, finding hazel eyes landing on him. He watches the way in which Pitta’s eyes light up, turning all shiny and bright when he notices his father. He turns away from the counter, abandoning the slices of bread he had taken out. He smiles, and gods, does his smile look like Grian’s. “Papa!” Pitta greets, the timbre of his voice cheerful and soft. 

“Hey, Pitta,” Scar returns, heart melting each time he’s reminded that he’s finally returned home. He never thought it would happen, that maybe it’d take him longer, or maybe something would strike him down on the way back. But against all odds, fourteen years, and Scar is home. His son stands in front of him. 

“What’re you doing awake? Is dad up too?” Pitta questions, raising a brow at him. 

“Uh…” Scar blanks, unsure of what to say. It’s not like he’s going to tell the truth, Pitta shouldn’t have to worry about him. Scar has already caused him enough pain, there’s no need to cause more now that he’s actually here. “Gria— your dad’s still asleep,” he stammers. The words feel awkward on his tongue, like they shouldn’t be there. This life of domesticity… he doesn’t know how to go about it. It isn’t just some enemy he can cut down. 

The very thought makes him nauseous. 

“Oh!” Pitta blinks at the response. “Well, that’s… good.” He nods to himself awkwardly, and Scar hides a grimace. 

He… really doesn’t know how to interact with his son. 

There’s this dark curdling of doubt in his mind that begins to creep up, settling over him. He’s afraid. Worried that this is one thing he’ll never overcome. It’s a familiar feeling, an old friend, a once enemy turned begrudging shadow. It’s a feeling he experienced in battle, traversing home, taking his castle back from scoundrels that dare to stain it. But there is a new fear that joins it, overwhelming like a tidal wave. 

Does he even know how to be a father? 

Scar feels his breath sharpen just a tad, skipping a beat and hastening. He can feel hands curling around his throat, beginning to press into his skin. He feels it tightening on him, the grip firm. The pressure starts off as something light, until the fingers of Fear dig deeper with each shakingly quiet breath. It gets stronger and stronger, straining his lungs until he can feel his throat being squeezed, choked. 

“Papa?” Pitta’s voice breaks him from the spiraling thoughts, from the overwhelming fear sneaking in. 

The hands around his neck relax, and the terror recedes, sinking back into the depths of his mind momentarily. He allows himself a moment to breathe, a chance to suck in a soft breath and recenter. His vision clears, and he becomes aware of the way his heartbeat pounds in his ears, loud like a drum. 

He manages a smile, “I’m uh, gonna go check and see if our Sleeping Beauty is awake.” Keeping his eyes trained on his son, Scar tries to maintain his light smile. He takes a few small steps back, slipping into a casual mask. He’s gotten quite good at it over the years of putting on a brave face. “Be right back.”

Pitta watches him, brows creasing in concern as he goes. “Oh… okay,” he answers, sounding resigned as Scar retreats. 

Scar turns around, and brings himself back to the beautiful olive tree where his Grian is fast asleep. The sun shines down on him, cutting through the green leaves. The light spills into their bed, painting a halo in the soft yet sandy blond locks of Grian’s hair. He rests in their bed, eyes shut and face relaxed. His body is curled somewhat, the blanket tucked just over his shoulders. 

Staring at him, taking in the near angelic sight, Scar takes a few breaths to calm himself. He walks over to their bed, sitting down on the edge, right beside Grian. He contents himself with just sitting there, watching the rise and fall of Grian’s chest. It feels a little easier to breathe, with the love of his life right here, peaceful. Scar can almost allow himself to pretend he lives in a world where he never went to war, where he never had to leave his family behind. He can almost allow himself to pretend he was the husband and father he should have been. 

Chest aching and overflowing with doubt and regret, Scar reaches out. Tenderly, Scar brushes some of Grian’s hair away from his face. He ever so softly tangles his fingers in the silky strands as he rhythmically cards through his hair. Scar’s expression softens, chest swelling with love for the man before him. He drags the pads of his fingertips along Grian’s head, feeling the soft locks under his touch. 

He can’t imagine what it was like, doing so much alone for so long. Scar has always believed Grian to be strong, the strongest person he knows. But this? Scar doesn’t think anyone could compare, not even the gods. 

Not in the way it matters, at least. 

His thumb idly strokes Grian’s cheekbone, loving and sweet. “I’d be lost without you, my light,” he murmurs. Because it’s true. Scar would’ve given up a long, long time ago if he didn’t have Grian and Pitta to come home to. Grian is his rock, his eye of the storm, his compass. Scar is caught within Grian’s orbit, forever wrapped up in him. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for this man. Grian kept their home in one piece. He raised their son. He handled whatever it was that Scar couldn’t in his time away. Grian held out hope for fourteen years that Scar would come back to him. 

Scar owes him everything and more. But most importantly, Scar owes him his love. And by the gods will he offer every last ounce of it, every drop. Scar is a man. No general, and certainly no hero. He is just a man who wants to pour his heart and soul out for his spouse. Scar is just a man in love. 

Beneath his touch, Grian’s face twitches, and he begins to stir. “Mmm… Scar?” he mumbles, still groggy and waking up. 

“Good morning, my love.” Scar smiles at him, brushing away a particular curl of hair before stroking his cheek. “Sleep well?”

“‘ink so, yes. It was warm with you,” Grian answers, leaning into the hand on his cheek. “What’re you awake for?” 

Scar pauses, if only briefly. “Uh, well, y’know. Just admiring my pretty husband while I have the chance,” he answers, which isn’t entirely a lie. 

Grian looks at him with clear suspicion, but doesn’t push. Instead, he sighs quietly as pushes himself to sit up. “You can do that when I’m awake too,” he teases, leaning to press their lips together. Scar is more than happy to sink into it, using the hand on Grian’s cheek to angle his head slightly, deepening it. The kiss is sweet, loving. It’s slow and patient, carrying the patience of fourteen years within it.

When they pull away, Scar rests their foreheads together. “I guess I can, yeah,” he agrees softly. “Mind if I take a few more minutes to admire him?” 

Grian smiles, kissing the corner of his mouth in return. “I suppose.”  Scar simply smiles, and gods is he happy to be home. No amount of fear could ever leave him unhappy to be back with the loves of his life. Never. 

[aka-indulgence]

hey Ms Aka, do you have a faesona?

Yes ‘w’ actually I made this months ago when Llama made her faesona (theyr so pretty) and she wanted to pair her faesona with mine so hehe… 👉 👈 (made these way back in June oops)

I have blue awlking wings! (Llama also helped me pick wings hehe)

I (my sona?) is very much suited for the summer court, but her bff lives in the winter court. They hang out together but Aka gets cold fast…

[redyrmes]

duckie

[dont-know-where]

llamas with hats swap au but their reactions to the Atrocities don't change.

Paul: Oh God I killed a man...

Carl: Look, Paul, this one's on me. I really should've told you that the plumber was coming.

Paul: I stabbed him 37 times in the chest!

Carl: Yeah...yeah that kills people...hey what happened to his hands?

Paul: ...

Carl: Hey, what did you do with his hands?

Paul: ...I cooked them up. And ate them.

Carl: ...How'd they taste?

Paul: "How'd they taste"?!?!

Carl: Like, sweet, savory...bitter....I can't list all of the flavors off the top of my-

Paul: I mutilated and ate a person and you're asking how they tasted?!

Carl: Well, I never had hands before!

Paul: CARL.

Carl: I want to try one day! Expand my palate!

Paul: CARL!

Carl: We have similar tastes, so I want to know if its worth my time!

[aurorangen]

From all the events of those days

Transcript & Bonus:

A neighbour notices the police

...

Charlie: [takes selfie with serious face] Got it ehehe. Look at that! Vincent: Wha-…is that you Charlie? Bleurgh this spit. Charlie: The one and only. Yah I'm gonna show this pic to Pam.

[It turned out that morning, the police came to update the case. My dad was confirmed as missing before we moved away and we did all we could to help then. Moreover, the corrupt officers disappeared too and were found working undercover at Gibbs Hill. So 4 people disappeared that year, although not simultaneously]

[There were no leads, so the investigation was closed. It seemed they truly did vanish into thin air. Loads of theories about their whereabouts were formed and whether they were linked. From all the existing evidence, it was concluded they had some connection to my dad…to me. I didn't want to think about it any longer]

[I was so glad Charlie came as well. He's the kind of friend that makes you forget all your worries] Charlie: [plays with Bella the dog] Yo I literally begged Dad to let me come too. I've not seen you in ages! Vincent: I can't believe you're here and it's crazy how long it's been. How are you Charlie?

Charlie: Urgh my cousins are so annoying. They both text me to complain about each other and I'm stuck in the middle, like what do I even say? I can't take sides [shakes head] Anyway, how's life Vince? Vincent: I'm a lot better, the countryside's great. And yeah I met the most amazing girl [talks about Nancy]

Vincent: What about you? [chuckles] I notice you keep real quiet about Pam when I call. Charlie: Mhmm…yeah about Pam…I'm dating her. Vincent: She already told me [gets playfully shoved and they laugh together]

...

?: [sees cop car in front of their neighbours] San Myshuno police? [walks to officer] Officer, may I ask why you are here in the quiet countryside? I hope nothing serious has happened to the Wilkinsons. Billy: Ma'am, we're only here to update the family on a missing person case. No need to worry, it's closed now.

Writer's note: I'm still trying to figure out how this will be solved. Strangerville is supposed to be next gen but it is also central to this...I'll think of something! That is why the investigation keeps being revisited or getting put in the archives for the future. I was going to add another pic, "Perhaps it was delusional thinking considering the cases linked but they may have disappeared voluntarily". So guys just allow it haha! It's obvious to you they are linked but not to them! No one outside knows a thing about Strangerville and its people, they leave nothing behind 👀

[lluminousllama]

Reblogging if anyone is interested in sketch commissions! I am currently taking 5 slots for full-body sketches!

Hi all, after hearing y'all's responses from my previous poll, I'll be offering sketch commissions! There will be 5 slots open for Full-body Sketches and 3 slots available for Sketch Pages, so if you're interested feel free to DM me, or email me at inkling4artist@gmail.com!

[llamagoddessofficial]

Hello Ms. Llama! Since weve heard Akas opinion on Ramattra, can we hear what you think about him?

Ramattra?

I have several opinions. I have abt 15k words of opinions, currently in my drafts, that I keep adding to in feral writing fits.

Here's 1k of opinions - particularly, from a slice-of-life AU I keep laying awake at night imagining (and @aka-indulgence keeps ENCOURAGING), where you become friends with Zenyatta while attending the same yoga class and end up getting 'close' with his roommate, Ramattra.

---

“I imagine this is going to sound bizarre, human. And I won’t be offended if you decline. But I have a request.”

You blinked up at him, from your spot perched on his couch, eyes drawn away from your phone screen. The height difference between you and the larger omnic was big enough as it was but now, with you sitting down and him standing up, how much you had to crane your neck to look at his face was borderline comical.

You were just waiting for Zenyatta to get home. The two of you always walked to yoga together, and since his place was closer, it made sense for you to wait there for him to get back from his Pencak Silat class. How he had the energy for both in one day, you’d never know - yoga alone left you sweaty and exhausted.

“... A request?” you repeated. Ramattra’s hands were tucked away in his hoodie pockets.

Zenyatta, when you first met him, had seemed very concerned about how you would get along with his roommate. Concerned enough to warn you in advance that Ramattra didn’t like humans - concerned enough to assure you multiple times that if the Ravager-class omnic refused to look at you, or speak with you, it was ‘very normal’. ‘Just how he was around humans’. "Please don't take it personally if he acts unpleasantly," were the exact words that left Zenyatta's voicebox.

Ramattra looked down at you. “Would you touch my back?”

...

Sure, Ramattra had been cordial with you. Friendly, even, seemingly to Zenyatta’s great surprise and delight. But you didn’t think yourself close enough for this. 

“T... touch your...?”

He nodded. “I have some calibration issues. If you could spare a few minutes to press the areas around my joints, I would greatly appreciate it. Though I understand if you don’t want to.”

“Oh!” You brightened. “Like a massage?”

Ramattra’s head cocked. You’d never get used to not being able to see any emotion in his face. “Massage?”

“Yeah, it’s something humans do to each other. You like... press someone’s body in certain spots to help relax their muscles.” You mimed the action with your hands.

“Hm.” By the rise in the inflection of his voice, he seemed pleasantly surprised. “Yes, something to the tune of that.”

“That’s no problem at all. Your back, yeah?”

Ramattra, to your surprise, immediately pulled his hoodie off. You supposed that was a yes.

He sat on the floor in front of you, his back to you, legs crossed. You’d never seen him from this perspective. Jeez, he really was massive, wasn’t he? His back was wider than you, shoulders past your knees. You could see the segments of dark metal that comprised his body, connecting to one another seamlessly, muscle-like in shape and angle but far stronger than anything a human could possibly grow.

Your hands hovered awkwardly above your lap. “You’re, uhm... you’re sure you’re fine with me doing this?”

“I am.” He swept his corded ‘hair’ to the side, over one shoulder. “I would not have asked otherwise.”

“Is there a spot in particular you want me to focus on?”

“No. Anywhere is fine. I have contact sensors across my entire body.”

... Hm. You eyed his back; between the metal sheets was a lining of black material. It looked thick and tensile, borderline bulletproof. You figured you might as well start there, and then Ramattra would let you know if you had the wrong idea. 

You pressed your thumbs into the rubber lining. No sound of protest. So you kept going - your hands moved up and down, with as much force as you could manage without giving yourself hand pain. You didn't consider yourself all that small of a human, but man, your hands looked so tiny up against him.

He was... warmer to the touch than you anticipated. The black material felt like rubber; the kind on a bike tyre, or computer cabling. The sort of thing you secretly really enjoyed the smell of. You pushed the balls of your hands against the metal itself, he was smoother than you expected too.

“Does this help?” you asked, softly.

“Yes.” Ramttra hummed. His voice sounded clearer, but lower, and with a softness you hadn’t heard him use with anyone but you. “A lot.”

“It doesn’t feel like I’m doing much.” You tried to find a balance between touching the rubber-like material and the huge metal plates themselves. He said he had sensors everywhere, right? So a mix of both was important.

“You are,” he replied, simply. His head leaned to the side. Following his lead, you moved your hand to his neck there, rubbing cautiously. He made a sound like a fan powering down in another room.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough to actually help.”

“It isn’t about strength.”

“It’s not?”

“The best way I can describe it is that... you’re helping me be aware of my body. From your touch, I can pinpoint issues, adjust my internals. Your pressure is variable and allows me to reset many of my functions against an external force. A very gentle jumpstart, if you will.”

“... Oh. I see.” You eased up. “Human massages need pressure. It makes more blood flow to the area, I think.”

“Interesting. And it feels pleasant?”

“Some people love it so much they pay for a professional to do it. Some people don’t like it at all.” You pushed both your hands into the spots where his shoulders met the tops of his massive metal arms. Concentrating on touching, you missed the little twitch in his fingers.

“Do you like massages?”

“Yeah, I suppose. I’m a bit iffy about a random person touching me up. But if I trust and like the person, it feels wonderful.”

“Hm.”

“What about you? Is this just a necessary thing, or does it feel nice?”

He thought, for a moment.

“... I am the same as you.” 

You lifted your hands, migrating away from his back, pressing your thumbs into the back of his neck. Ramattra’s head slowly rocked forward; he made a sound you’d never heard before. It was quiet, but heavily robotic, like a hum put through several audio filters until it was barely recognisable as speech.

You paused, somewhat startled. “Everything ok?”

His voice was very very soft. Very very deep. “Yes. Keep going.”

... Huh. Well, you did as he asked, starting up again, pushing circles into the back of his neck. It was easy work, and you couldn’t deny it was fascinating to see him up so close. 

He let out a long, slow ‘sigh’. He had mentioned before that he could sigh two ways - one was just an audial manner of showing emotion, and the other was a way to flush air through his system and cool any overheating components. This was the latter. You could actually hear the hissing air, sifting out from between his ribs and mouth.

Ramattra’s head rocked back. Surprised, you pulled your hands away. His head was suddenly in your lap. He was heavy - he looked up at you, masked face as unreadable as ever.

... For just a moment, though, you could see eyes behind the cuts in his face. Dim light glanced off what almost resembled two dark camera apertures - clearly staring up at you.

...

“Uh...” You didn’t know what to say. You signed up for giving him a shoulder rub. You weren’t expecting this. 

He took a moment to respond.

“... I’m sorry.” His voice was making you feel some kinda way. “My system just reset. It hasn’t done that in a while. I might need a moment.”

“R-reset? I didn’t break anything, did I?”

He chuckled, gently. “No. Don’t worry. It’s a good thing.”

“Okay. If you say you're fine, I believe you.”

“Thank you, human. That felt... wonderful. It was exactly what I needed.” He sounded thoughtful. Relaxed.

"I'm glad I could help."

"Give me forty-eight more seconds."

"Pft." You grinned down at him. "Okay."

... You kinda felt proud of yourself. But you also really hoped Zenyatta didn't come home to his brother's head in your lap. You weren't entirely sure how you'd live that down.

[ingravinoveritas]

Have you seen this? I head "Michael got excited about being connected through matching bracelets" and immediately thought that you're going to have some thoughts.

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGeQE7KSk/

Oh my god. No, I hadn't seen this video until now, but thank you SO much for sending it to me! I'll post a clip of the most pertinent part about what Michael said below, but I urge folks to check out the whole thing on Tiktok, as this is the woman who made the bracelets we saw David wearing at the Proud Nerd Con last weekend:

My first immediate reaction after seeing/hearing this was utter disbelief and delight, coupled with a complete lack of surprise because...Michael. If there is anyone who could channel "15-year-old girl during the last week of summer camp" energy, it is Michael. It's also terribly bittersweet and yet somehow fitting knowing that we're nearing the end of Michael's time in London--which I think we can now refer to as Shennant Summer, at least in Australia, though the last six months were technically the winter here.

(My second thought was that I feel like we're a hell of a lot closer than ever before to my imaginings of Michael and David getting complementing tattoos somehow manifesting into reality...)

But...my god. I don't think any of us could picture Michael and David not being connected in some way, even if/when they're not in the same city, and yet the thought of Michael wanting to have some tangible reminder of David with him always is doing things to my heart that may necessitate the use of defibrillators. I feel like this is some kind of reverse Parent Trap situation where Michael is going to "accidentally" pack one of the Tennant kids in his suitcase, which will mean David will have to go to Wales to collect his wayward offspring, and then the next thing you know they're on a yacht drinking Champagne while "I Love You (For Sentimental Reasons)" plays in the background.

I think what is so incredible to me is that we know how soft (in the best way possible) Michael is, but to know that he's specifically gotten that way over David--that he holds David in that deep heart space--is achingly beautiful. I know a lot of folks will say that this is giving all of the "friendship bracelet" and "besties" vibes, but I really don't think it's much of a stretch to think that it could be something more. Everything about this just feels so romantic at this point that, in my opinion, it would seem almost ludicrous to not consider it a possibility. Because right now, neither Michael nor David appear to be holding back, and I'm so here for it.

Thank you again so much for sending this my way. I'd love to hear what everyone else thinks, so please feel free to add your thoughts in the comments. Thanks for writing in! x

[skumhuu]

not at all the other anon (and very VERY much proship leaning) but the "proship means you're against harrassment" definition has always seemed flawed to me because... i was an anti once. And from my direct experiences there are so many antis who have horrible opinions of proshippers but are also very firmly against harrassment—they're still antis and still hate us, viscerally even, they just keep it to themselves and to their friend circles. That doesn't make it harrassment and also doesn't make them less of an anti, they still believe awful things about us and would likely be hostile if we ever interacted.

The definition i typically use for myself to determine whether or not someone is a proshipper or not is if they believe someone's taste in fiction has any bearing on their real-life moral compass or not. If you believe it does, you're an anti. if it doesn't, you're proship.

(This isn't to step over your opinion at all—just sharing mine! I really apologise if this comes off as disrespectful in any way haha.)

No no you’re fine! 💚

This kinda goes back to the unfortunately widespread idea that proship=pedo/problematic. Because like, those people just sound like they identify with being an anti because all of their friends are antis, they have the wrong info, or are too scared to speak up.

Also please remember that my aggressiveness lately isn’t due to hate, I am more than okay with former antis and people who don’t know better, but at this point I’ve dealt with so much harassment and hurt that I’ve lost my patience.

Aligning oneself with the face eating leopards to stay safe doesn’t mean they’re going out to eat faces themselves, but they are enabling that behavior. Even if they aren’t hurting people, by displaying “proship dni” they’re okay with isolating particular kinds of people out of the fandom. They’re okay with inciting harassment, or standing by while others do it for them. And like, they can say they’re against harassment all they like, but they’re still siding with the face eating leopards, hoping they don’t eat their faces next.

Adding proship to my bio wasn’t what I wanted, but I keep getting people acting betrayed when they discover that I’m proship and attacking me that I felt forced to add it. I simplify proship down to ‘proship means you are against harassment’ because I keep having to have this same song and dance where people show up in my askbox demanding I explain myself, when in reality I’m a random sanscest artist like 😂😂😂 the situation is very nuanced! But y’all I’m just trying to make the skeletons kiss

I keep linking studies, and info about the situation, and the way you explained being proship is exactly what I keep saying over and over but in different words :0 I’m too tired to be sympathetic with the people who call me an unsafe pedophile over fiction, who fill my ship tags with hate/disgust while I’m trying to vibe, and I’m not going to tolerate the people who side with that anymore. Like I don’t care if they aren’t harassing others themselves anymore.

Literally look at the tmnt fandom, they ended up turning on “neutrals” and bullied the ever loving shit out of everyone, even those who didn’t care. If we tolerate that here, eventually it might get that bad too. I refuse to let that happen. I will NOT let the face eating leopards in

[diary-of-a-pretentious-asshole]

i really feel bad for people like Jason Steele and Penelope Scott. everyone disregards them as something the grew out of, Penelope is the period of 2020 personified and Jason Steele’s work is used as an example of bad LOLXD comedy. but they’ve grown and their stuff is still pretty good, i loved watching The Fall of Shadow Stone Park and i still love Hazards and other Penelope Scott songs.

[phillietemple]

decorated my christmas tree today (on THE TREE anniversary let's go) and did this :)

[puddlellama]

i slept for 13 hours yesterday. I woke up and felt good, for once. no big dizziness or exhaustion or anything like that. I was alert and could think clearly.

then I made the mistake of trying to stand up, and I nearly fell over immediately.

fuck chronic fatigue.