#thats kinda sad but what ever

[engagemythrusters]

nothing is funnier to me than opening one of neil newbon's old streams to see how he interacted with the characters and then seeing someone in the chat go "I don't like Gale--he's a walking red flag"

girl you are there in that discord server or whatever because you like Astarion. your fingers should NOT be on your keyboard when it comes time to talk about red flags 😂

[bunnihearted]

ᯓ★

[dockaspbrak]

Dont read these tags its sad stupid shit

[triglycercule]

guys i havent written since may (for killer's birthday) but stupid silly swapinverse has been on my mind for a little bit and i threw together this silly (he has a panic attack and throws up) little short draft 4 swapinverse horror!!

-

“hah… ah… oh god… no, no, nonono…”

he ran. sprinted through the forest like a frightened deer, his demeanor that of prey, although his previous actions aligned more of a predator. panting and shaking, his mind cycled through countless variations of how to react to what just happened, what he just did.

how should he react? how could he react? it was impossible to tell for him in the panicked state. and as the trees in snowdin slowly began to surround him (but weren't they always doing that?), paranoia couldn't run anymore. he was surrounded, he was blocked off, he couldn't escape. not from horrortale, not from snowdin, not from the dusty graveyard he had just left it, and not from the blood smeared across his mouth.

“no, i- what did, what did i do? paps, snowdin, even-undick, no, it-”

paranoia’s incoherent rambles brought his hands to wander across his face, tugging at the massive hole in his skull spanning majority of the left side of his head. picking at the chipped bone didn't help, it never did, but a nervous habit was unbreakable, and he was more than nervous in this moment. in fact, quite terrified. everything was terrifying. he was terrifying. and as the slightest hint of red blood touched his sleeve, the once red, now magenta eye quickly locked onto it, and he couldn't hold it back anymore.

“fuck- oh god, no, aliza-!”

falling to his knees, a disgustingly gorey mess of red, pink, and black spilled from his mouth. sounds of retching and hurling were all that filled the empty forest, and paranoia couldn't bear to look down and see the mess he’d made. the mess he’s caused. wasted food, he would've said. but that statement normally only applied to others. he never imagined using it on himself. choking on his spit and certainly not his blood, tears fell from his eye, joining the vomit and blood seeping into the snow. strange. paranoia didn't think he had enough magic to even shed tears anymore. just for the bare necessities. he managed to surprise even himself, after all this time.

but could it be could be considered surprise, or rather terror? he fit up to his name, certainly horrified at his own actions. forcing out as much of the grossness he could that he’d just consumed, paranoia couldn't help but look down at what he’d done.

red. a lot of red. too much red. he’d never been queasy before, never. he had to adapt to it, being the one to hunt down humans that ran or sneak up on those when times got desperate. there was no time or need to be queasy at what he even considered his job before. a duty he had to do.

but now, there was too much red. far too much red. and he didn't know why, although he totally knew, but paranoia couldn't stomach it. he just threw his guts out (shouldn't they be aliza’s guts, or no?), and here he was, wanting to throw up until his SOUL shattered. his SOUL cycled through those strange 4 shapes, unsure of which to settle on. he couldn't blame it. paranoia himself was unsure of what was even going on anymore. he wanted to run, but was frozen. he wanted to scream, but didn't know who at.

everything was contradicting. everything was going on, and not enough was given for paranoia to understand how to deal with it. and with a muttered curse, he flopped on his side onto the somehow dry snow, losing consciousness in the haze of fear now intermingled with his SOUL.

-

ik theres probably grammar mistakes i wrote this on my phone,,,, but like idk. had idea for a little moment in paranoia's lore and i sure as hell didn't wanna draw it so i wrote it as an easier media! god this is so much easier compared to drawing idk why i dont do this more often (because youre lazy silly!) anyways swapinverse silly i love swapinverse. i've only thrown up like never so i dont know if this works. also never had a panic attack (i think) and AGAIN i dont know if this is accurate but whatever i dont write to be good i write for expressing my ideas. like everything i do

[a-dash-in-the-middle]

Never going clubbing with the ppl who are friends and i just met them cuz how is this the loneliest???

[perenlop]

im not having a certified Misophonia Moment im just feeling a bit lonely about it rn

[drifloonz]

one day ill be annoying ab my selfship again . although i enjoy that ppl enjoy my writing most of this is entirely self indulgent, projection, and for me . being so real .

[br1ghtestlight]

forever thinking about my theater class in high school that i attended for all of one (1) day and i asked the teacher to call me by a different name than my birthname bcuz transgender 16yo and she was like ohhh yeah ^_^ but the name was gender neutral and she spent the entire class trying to avoid referring to me with any pronouns Like i was elmo from sesame street

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[xamaxenta]

It’s difficult to not feel discouraged sometimes when your partner is also an artist and happens to be faster than you in every conceivable way

This doesn’t bother me often because everyone is different and comparing production time and skill against each other or anyone is detrimental mostly and its ok to have your own workflow

but it does weigh on me vaguely sometimes sometimes that she can finish 2-3 full coloured pieces within a week and ive been painfully scratching out the same number but theyre only sketches that ill never revisit within a month

None of this actually matters in the long run, it just makes me feel bad on occasion

[keicordelle]

I know the chief advice for artists is to create for yourself, but I don't usually write just for me. I mean, I rarely write things I'm not at least a little invested it -- I choose the pairings, and the plot, and of course even when I'm writing for someone else it's going to have a piece of me in it. But when I'm writing, I'm pretty well always doing it with an audience in mind. As a general rule, I don't feel particularly compelled to write things out just for me. I'm usually content to just leave them as daydreams and fantasies, rather than put in the work of putting it onto paper. Writing is meant to be read, and I'm not really in the habit of rereading my own writing (I should. I know I should. But I don't, really)

But I think I'm going to take the time to write something really, terribly self indulgent. It's been... A year? Two? Since I wrote something just for me. I think a return to my roots would do me some good. Time to kill the reader in my head and write the most egregiously self-fulfilling fic I can come up with.

[todayisafridaynight]

gotta be tbh i chose the worst picture of daigo to put in my little locket cause he really looks too much like my dad and i cant look at it too long or im gonna suddenly feel inclined to drive to new york

[merkerlerspeaks]

*exhibits symptoms of disorders you have been diagnosed with and just so happen to also be depression symptoms, but isnt actually depressed*

People: Hmm I diagnose you with depression

[nomaishuttle]

love this podcast but sometimes they do a segment and i disagree so heavily that i need to take a breather

[bucket-o-slime]

fuckfuckfuck

[cogzandsprings]

I’m surprised none of you little gay ppl in tumblr discuss the ending to Dark Star 1974. Feels right up this sites alley