#this has nothing to do with real life events

[hotdogperihelio]

This entire event reminds me strongly of a paper by Eray Yaganak called “The Taking of Life: Killing Someone in the name of Preserving Another” which can be found here: http://iafor.org/archives/journals/iafor-journal-of-ethics-religion-and-philosophy/10.22492.ijerp.1.1.03.pdf

We can say that imperatively that killing another person is wrong, both morally and religiously (morally before religiously… morals shape religion). However, while I assume that most people agree that condoning murder is bad, we can also hopefully come to the agreement that the response to the murder of a CEO who has actively caused harm to many other persons… in essence killing people through inaction, and thereby violating human dignity should not be greatly upheld in any regard, Killing in retaliation is wrong, but to say this we need to look at the fact that KILLING IN GENERAL IS WRONG. And while big bad insurance company CEO has not directly put a bullet through someone’s head (to our knowledge), murder through denial and inaction is still wrong, and I think people should treat it as such.

Overall, do I condemn murder? Yes.

Do I also believe that we should take this as a moment to analyze why we have such an imbalance of when we condemn murder overall? Also yes.

Because let’s be so for real, we care that one man killed one other man. However, nothing had been addressed seriously on the murder that does get condoned daily through non-action in these large insurance companies.

Anyways thank you for listening to my yap session lol

[trenchcoathunnybee08]

We don’t talk enough about the fact that in Origins Kayla tells Logan about that spirit who picked flowers for the moon but was tricked and cast out. She tells him the name means Wolverine.

Later after she dies and he goes into the program they ask him what he wants on his new dog tags. He said Wolverine.

Bro chose to live a life with her, fall for her, love her, and ultimately seek revenge for her. He went into the program because of her and chose the name of the character to the last story she told him.

Like do you understand the implications of that?

She was one of the only people to see him as something other than an animal or a killer. She was one of the only people to see that soft side of him. When he took on that name it was to remember her and the way she saw him. Not as a killer but as someone capable of love. Someone who cared so deeply but had experienced great tragedy.

When he took on the name it wasn’t as an animal. With was as a lover. It’s only when he’s lost the memory of its meaning does it become a burden as he believes he is nothing but a killer and an animal. He has nothing to link the name to aside from the surface meaning.

He loved her so much it breaks my heart. Him and Kayla were the real endgame even though they were never meant to last. Tragically I almost feel like in every universe where they are together she ultimately dies. Like a fixed point or a canon event. In every universe where she exists and they meet he is destined to lose her.

[yapiiya]

Part 1 || Part 2

“I’ll be 87, you’ll be 89 / I’ll still look at you like the stars that shine.”

Blue Lock

Michael Kaiser x Reader

Angst to Fluff

Note: All characters and events in this story are entirely fictional and not based on real people or events. Please be advised that this story includes themes of violence, abuse, strong language, and spoilers for the manga. Reader discretion is advised.

After years of waiting and searching for him every single day—in the park, the bakery, near his house, and around the neighborhood—I found nothing. Not a single hint or clue about where he might be. It felt like he vanished into thin air, disappearing like a bubble without leaving even the faintest trace.

I never got the chance to know if he was okay, if he was mad at me, or if I had done something wrong. I’ve spent so many sleepless nights wondering about him, especially knowing how his dad used to beat him. The thought of it made me sick with worry. I regret every single moment I didn’t ask, “How are you?” or “Are you okay?” He carried so much on his shoulders, and I didn’t do enough to lighten his burden.

It’s been eight years since we first met and four years since I last saw him. He’s 18 now, and I’m 16. I’ve tried to move forward, focusing on my studies and preparing for college. My dream has always been to study in Berlin, the capital, and I’ve worked tirelessly toward it. I told myself that if I couldn’t see him again, the least I could do was honor my dreams. Still, a part of me clung to the hope that I’d find him someday. I couldn’t forget him, not even for a moment.

One evening, I turned on the TV to take a break. By chance, the channel was airing a live soccer match. The team playing was Bastard München, one of the most renowned teams in the league. The energy of the crowd was electrifying, their cheers reverberating through the stadium. But as I watched, my attention was drawn to one player on the field.

A tall young man stood out among the others—his presence magnetic. He had blonde hair styled into a mullet with striking blue streaks at the ends, piercing blue eyes, and blue rose tattoos that climbed his neck, spiraling into thorny stems down his left arm, ending in a crown with a keyhole on his hand. He had a sharp look about him, accentuated by eyeliner, which gave him an air of confidence that seemed almost untouchable.

The entire game revolved around him. His teammates passed the ball to him like loyal subjects serving their emperor. He moved with precision and authority, as if the field was his kingdom. Then, as he approached the goal, the crowd’s cheers reached a crescendo. With a swift, powerful kick, he sent the ball flying.

“GOAL! And Kaiser uses his signature move, the ‘Kaiser Impact!’ What a phenomenal strike!” the commentator exclaimed, his voice filled with awe.

The game ended with Bastard München winning 4-2. My heart raced as I tried to process what I’d just seen. There was something achingly familiar about him. Compelled by curiosity, I searched for him online.

“Michael Kaiser…”

The name confirmed it. The articles, the photos—it was him. Mihya. The boy I had been searching for all these years. My Mihya.

As I read more, my heart swelled with pride. He had become everything he ever dreamed of. He was living his life to the fullest, chasing his passion and thriving. But a lingering question haunted me: Why had he left without saying goodbye?

It’s been twelve years since we first met and eight years since I last saw him. He’s 22 now, and I’m 20. Over the years, I kept up with his games, watching him from afar. But as much as I admired him, he felt more distant than ever. He was a global star now, with fans across the world, shipped with models and actresses, and surrounded by a life I could never touch.

In Berlin, I worked hard to make a life for myself. I loved it there—the opportunities, the people—but something always felt missing. A part of me, a piece of my heart, remained elsewhere, always longing.

When the school year ended, I returned to my hometown. My family greeted me with warmth, celebrating the end of the school year. It was wonderful to be home, but the ache in my chest persisted.

That night, unable to sleep, I wandered out of the house. My feet carried me to the park where so many of my childhood memories were made. Sitting on the swing, I let the memories flood back.

“it’s been eight years, huh?” I whispered to myself, my voice barely audible against the silence of the night. The words hung in the air, heavy with longing and regret. The rain began to fall, soft at first, then steadily growing heavier, each droplet a whisper from the past. I didn’t move. I let the rain soak me, its coldness seeping into my skin, grounding me in the present even as my mind drifted to the past.

The wind carried my words into the darkness, as if taking them to wherever he was. And as I sat there, the rain falling harder, I let the memories and the longing consume me. After all these years, I had hoped for closure—but deep down, I knew that a part of me would always wait for him, even in the pouring rain.

But then, the rain stopped—not entirely, but above me, it was dry. Confused, I looked up to see an umbrella shielding me from the downpour.

“Haven’t you learned your lesson, Sicky head?”

That voice. That nickname. My heart stopped.

When we were kids, I used to get sick often—always catching colds because I played in the rain or forgot to dry my hair. He used to scold me, teasingly calling me “Sicky head”.

Slowly, I turned around. My breath caught in my throat.

“Mihya…”

There he stood, Michael Kaiser, in the flesh.

“What? Are we just going to stare at each other all night?” he teased, his smirk so familiar it brought tears to my eyes.

Before I could stop myself, I leapt from the swing and threw my arms around him, the umbrella falling to the ground. But then I remembered—he hated being touched. I quickly pulled away, stammering an apology.

To my surprise, he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me close again.

“Not with you,” he murmured. “That doesn’t apply to you.”

“Do you… hate me or got tired of me?” I asked, my voice trembling as I looked away, tears silently streaming down my face. Thankfully, the rain masked them—or so I hoped.

“Stop crying,” he said softly, stepping closer and cupping my cheeks with his hands. His thumbs brushed against my wet skin, and his touch was both gentle and grounding. “And no, I would never hate you.” His voice was firm, filled with conviction.

“Then why…” I hesitated, my voice breaking. “Why did you leave me behind?”

He sighed deeply, his hands still cradling my face, as if afraid I’d disappear if he let go. “I would never leave you willingly. It’s just… things got complicated.” He looked down for a moment, then met my gaze again, his expression heavy with regret.

“I was accused of stealing in a jewelry store, and before I knew it, I got arrested.” he said, his voice carrying a mix of anger and frustration at the memory. “But when I was at the jail, someone offered me a way out—he said I had potential in playing soccer..”

He paused, his eyes searching mine for understanding. “He told me he’d heard about me fight back—against the police, against my father—all with just a soccer ball. So, I took the chance. I didn’t have a choice, but it meant leaving everything behind… including you.”

I felt a lump in my throat, the weight of his words sinking in. “All this time,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, “I thought you left me behind.”

“That’s bullshit,” he said firmly, his voice almost cracking. “Mihya would never do that, right?” He looked at me with a soft smile, trying to ease the heaviness in the air.

There was a comforting silence between us, the kind that didn’t need words. I looked into his eyes again, and for the first time in years, I felt the warmth and familiarity I thought I’d lost. His gaze was steady, full of reassurance and an unspoken promise.

As I studied his face, I realized how much he had changed. His features had become more mature, his jawline sharper, and the boyish softness was gone. His mullet, now longer with blue streaked ends, framed his face perfectly. Despite the changes, he was still Mihya—my Mihya.

“You’ve grown,” I said softly, unable to hide the awe in my voice. “But you’re still the same to me.”

He chuckled, shaking his head lightly as the rain continued to fall around us. “And you’re still the same too, always overthinking,” he teased, his voice laced with warmth.

Silence filled the air. It was comforting.

"I told you, you're the best," I said, breaking the silence. My voice firm but filled with affection as I looked into his eyes.

He gave a small, almost self-deprecating laugh. "You've always believed in me, haven't you?" he asked softly, his voice carrying a note of wonder. “You should’ve come to one of my matches,” he continued, his tone turning teasing. “I would have definitely seen you there.”

“How did you even know I wasn’t there?” I asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Because I always look for you,” he said, his voice softening but still carrying a playful edge. “Through every game, every goal, every crowd screaming my name—you were always the one I was looking and playing for. No matter how far I went, I always thought of you.”

I felt my cheeks heat up as I looked away. “You’re such an asshat,” I muttered, my voice trembling slightly. “I thought… I thought you didn’t want me to see you anymore. That’s why.”

His teasing demeanor faltered, and he let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” He looked down for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “I actually come to this park twice a month, hoping I’d see you. I even went to your house, but they told me you weren’t there anymore.”

“Ah… yeah,” I said, fidgeting with the hem of my hoodie. “Well, my mom divorced my dad, and my grandma wanted us to live with her. We’re still in the neighborhood, though.”

His expression softened further as he nodded, taking in the details.

We fell into a natural rhythm, talking and catching up like no time had passed. We laughed over old memories, shared stories of the years apart, and danced together under the rain, letting the drops fall around us. It felt like we were in our own world—just us, the rain, and the echoes of our childhood.

“I missed this,” he murmured, his voice quiet but firm. He reached up, his hand brushing my cheek with a tenderness that made my heart ache. “I missed you.”

I smiled, my own hand hesitantly reaching up to rest against his. “I missed you too. Welcome back… Mihya.”

Mihya, my childhood best friend, the boy who had once been my entire world, was now the man who still held my heart in his hands. And as I looked into his eyes, filled with so much emotion, I knew I was still the girl who believed in him. The girl who never stopped cheering for him, even when the distance felt insurmountable.

Without a word, he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. The warmth of the gesture contrasted with the cold rain, and my cheeks flushed as he pulled away. His gaze dropped to my lips, and I saw a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

“Can I?” he asked softly, his voice barely audible over the rain.

I nodded, unable to find my voice.

His hand on my cheek slid down to my neck, pulling me closer as his other arm encircled my waist. The world around us blurred, the rain continuing to fall as he closed the distance between us. His lips met mine, soft and tentative at first, then deeper, as if he was pouring all the years of longing into that single kiss.

It felt like time stopped, the rain a mere backdrop to the emotions surging between us. Every doubt, every question, and every unspoken word seemed to dissolve in that moment.

I didn’t even care if I’d wake up tomorrow with a fever or a cold. In that moment, nothing else mattered—the rain, the chill, or the consequences. All I could think about was the warmth of the memories flooding back and the joy of being here, now, with him.

The years had changed us, shaped us, and pulled us apart. But standing there, I realized that some bonds could never break. We were more than childhood friends. We were two halves of the same story, destined to find each other again, no matter how much time had passed.

I could feel it deep in my soul—our love, our bond, would never fade. It would grow with us. We would grow old together, like the stars in the sky, shining brighter with each passing year. And no matter what, I would always be his number one fan, cheering him on through every triumph, every challenge, every goal. And he would always be the one who held my heart, the one who truly knew me. The one I’d loved since we were kids. The one I’d continue to love for the rest of my life.

— Taglist!

@8x9d

— Author’s note!

Hi, everyone! I know this part is longer, but I hope it kept you hooked till the end. Thank you so much for the amazing support on the first part of this story—it truly motivates me to keep writing! I’ll do my best to stay active and bring more stories your way. Every reblog, like, and comment means so much to me and helps share this story with others who might enjoy it. I’d love to hear your thoughts, feedback, or anything that stood out to you. Thank you so much for taking the time to engage. <3

[serpentface]

I know that you got rid of all the definite super-natural stuff which I think was a really good choice. I know dreamlands cult is still around, but what happened to the giant ur-tree. That was really cool. I was wondering if that was still a thing or significantly changed at all. This blog and all your world building is super cool 🫡

Unfortunately it has to be significantly changed due to the original concept being like, not actually a tree but like a suspended structure of millions of years of plant life (the highest branches being composed of early land plants extinct everywhere else, the trunks being a twisted amalgam of contemporary trees and foliage) supported by a quasi-sapient deified fungal network.

There's nothing I can do that doesn't wildly nerf the concept down, but I'm maintaining the Spirit Of Things by having the Ur-Tree be a clonal system of very large trees that are actually a single tree connected by a root system, which is over 10,000 years old. This single tree is functionally its own woodland, and part of a much larger (otherwise non-clonal) forest.

This ancient tree is an individual from a spec bio species that I haven't fully fleshed out yet. I was thinking something spruce-like in appearance but it needs to produce fairly substantial quantities of dimethyltryptamine in its bark/roots. It grows in humid subtropical-tropical regions (the Ur-Tree is in the Lowlands, which is a humid coastal subtropical region) and has a fairly wide spread, but its range is fragmented and it's almost always found as a singular tree among other species, no other clonal colonies of this size and age exist (and thus the Ur-Tree is recognizably unique). Its root system is a key host/mutualist symbiotic partner for a spec bio fungus with strong hallucinogenic properties, which is refined along with the bark extract to make the Ur-Root entheogen used by the Scholars sect of the Eterhimhamdli religion.

This retcon allows for people to still live in the Ur-Tree (in a less literal sense of living within the space of the colonial organism), for it to be a large location that is a focal point for a religious practice, for its components to be used in production of a very strong hallucinogen, and for it to be a Presence that predates the cultural memories of any groups that encounter it. It might not have the cool factor of the Giant Fucking God Tree but it preserves the aspects that are most interesting to me in the confines of this setting.

The effects of the hallucinogen are also VERY similar to the pre-supernatural nerfing event version (just less Specifically Targeted without the 'experiencing the memories of a semi-sapient fungus' aspect). A full trip starts with minor visual distortion that turns into fractals, the experience of going through a tunnel and 'breaking through' into a distinct experiential Space, you may encounter things you perceive as entities that communicate with you, etc. (This is just DMT.)

The come up period for the fungus times itself near perfectly with the come-down for the DMT (there is usually no moment of in-between for the user). This is experienced as the previous space shifting into one that feels more like the real world, but with a heavily distorted sense of time, the user feels as if they are living through hundreds of thousands of years. Their senses are distorted and indistinct from one another, hard to categorize as 'vision' 'sound' 'smell' 'touch', it's raw Experience. In a good trip, the user loses all sense of individual identity and experiences a sense of oneness with all life, rendering the sensation of endless time into a peaceful experience. In a bad trip, the user remains semi-conscious and might retain the concept of the 'self' and therefore experience what feels like being trapped in this space for millennia.

(Here's the original post about it. Everything about the religious practices and interpretations Surrounding the tree/the Ur-Root is still canon, with the exception of the Scholarly Order Of The Root being a singular sect/mystery cult of a much larger religion rather than The central priesthood of that religion)

[grimaldiapologist]

Writing on a blog dedicated, at least in spirit, to our dissociative identity disorder, this is something that fascinates me. For context - living with the poster child disorder of "that's not even real" and "you're just faking it to get out of jail" and "you're just histrionic with bpd I know this because I took a psych class once in uni", that some fucking airheads still make their paycheck "criticising" in the psychology field (and teaching), the fear of being declared a faker, an attention seeker, a liar, a self-centered and stage-obsessed criminal-until-proven-otherwise came as a free package with the diagnosis. Just the suspicion of the diagnosis was enough for all of those labels. From whom? Everyone.

The first time I dared to open my mouth to my psychiatric nurse, she was putting me against the wall for lying and omitting, because in her view, I was doing too well with no explanation. In reality, at that point, I'd spent some months after becoming aware of the system getting to know them and reading up on how to get the basics of communication together, and working through the first chapters of Coping With Trauma-Related Dissociation, which helped us understand what we needed to do with one another in order to stabilise and feel safer in our everyday life. Things were actually going wonderfully, I wasn't lying, but I was omitting, yes. I was omitting, because even though at that point I knew nothing about DID beyond what I was learning from resources and my friend/now partner, who'd been in the community for a long time and gave us crucial peer support in terms of figuring our situation out, I knew extremely well the stigma associated with "split personality", and our first and primary instinct has always been to hide and cover the existence of the system.

But she was forcing it, so I told her. I was asking for help, yes, but with the context of doing so well - we were winning, and we wanted to keep winning.

She promptly told us we weren't allowed to leave, and started to set us up for involuntary inpatient stay. Exactly what we'd been afraid of the most: that "the psychiatric system" would imprison us and kill us, kill the parts of us who were vulnerable, with cocktails of medication in padded rooms and straitjackets and whatnot that we'd seen in the movies. (And, to a degree, during our actual inpatient stay years before.)

The resident psychiatrist did a quick evaluation of us and released us after, clearly annoyed at the nurse for overreacting and putting us in the extremely triggered and traumatised state that we were in, but it did permanent damage.

Very soon after, we discovered the online "discourse" on the validity of DID, and the "fake claiming" communities. This is all we inherited, first thing, with our diagnosis - which we did get after the above clusterfuck, within a year, with the aid of a specialising therapist and years of notes from our history, or so I assume. I can't remember, it's been years, and I have DID. The point is, even the DID community itself demands that you will never show a bright side to your disorder.

You either suffer all of the time, always, you hate yourself, you hate your other selves, you want to die, and you're forever a mess and you're in eternal war against yourself, or you're faking.

We are not this way and have never been. Prior to discovering the system, we were poorly. To spare the details, at 29 when we were diagnosed, we hadn't worked a day in our lives, dropped out of school at 12, and spent about a decade locked indoors with suicidal spirals being the expected main event of every three days or so. But our main strength has been our us, the family that we have, and the care that we've shown each other all along. Even if we can't love ourselves, we can love each other, and after learning communication - learning to listen, learning to talk - we've been doing phenomenally. Our condition has changed from treatment-resistant and debilitating to actually, we no longer need SSRI medication at all, after being on it for our whole lives. And luckily, this is enough proof for us, but not the world.

No, we're now in that funny place where our partially treated trauma/dissociative disorder looks like too much fun to the world. We're fine and we love each other. We indulge in dressup, we have our own silly little blogs and journals each with their own specific equipment like fancy ink pens and wares of stickers and decor, we have galleries of fake Instagram pictures of ourselves, we use PluralKit on Discord and talk to ourselves like we own the chat - among friends, anyway, or just between ourselves in our private one. All of this means we're fake, fake, fake, fake. God forbid a man has fun. God forbid a woman takes an afternoon to herself to give herself a makeover and go on a date. God forbid a guy just wants to feel comfortable and laugh and express himself, or have a chat with his closest friends.

We're not in enough pain all of the time to be "true" DID anymore. If we were "true" DID then we'd still be in the untreated, pre-diagnosed state. This is a stagnant disorder of identities that may never experience growth or true humanity. All I am allowed to be is a filthy, incapable hikikomori afraid of the world, because anything else is fucking weird to people.

I'm sorry, but. None of your fucking business. I've spent 33 years of my life split squarely on a tightrope over the chasms of "I don't want to die" and "I want to kill myself now". I'm 33 fucking years old and I've earned my goddamn license to feel good, actually. I'm allowed to be fucking weird because I'm developmentally disabled. I will never not be the way that I am, and I also have no intentions to ever be anything but the way that I am, I'm just aiming to be better at it.

This now means that I'm not actually allowed to talk about my disorder... basically anywhere but here and in therapy. No matter where I go, people treat me like a criminal. People who don't have DID tell me I'm faking for clout and larping (LARPing is great by the way and you should absolutely try it out instead of using it as a weird slur online) and they're the champions of true sufferers who are there to nobly remind me that REAL people with DID are actually so in pain all of the time and dying unrecognised while freaks like me... post on Tumblr for attention or whatever I don't fucking know I'm still disabled and in chronic pain and I can't do shit with myself regardless of our overall improvement - and people with DID tell me what I have isn't real DID and I'm "anti-recovery" or whatever because I don't subscribe to their specific dogma of recovery (which, for the record, every single microcosm of the recovery community has their own version of, and they all hate each other for it). The latest edition of how this fucked us over was our choice to write frankly about the positive sides of how the often negatively portrayed coping mechanisms of DID can be turned to work for recovery, and how things like substitute beliefs (believing things that are factually untrue such as 'I am an actual dragon trapped in a human suit' when you're not) can be used not to distance one from reality to escape but help one adapt into it (because I am a dragon in a human suit, a dentist cannot scare me), and had the whole conversation just without warning or any sort of notice deleted from the community. Mods never replied to my request on clarity on what the fuck they were doing and why, and I haven't been back in the community since, either.

And it's hilarious. The whole fucking thing is hilarious. You're faking it if you've recovered too much, because a true sufferer of a severe mental health condition would never recover, but if you don't recover enough, you're anti-recovery, and therefore also faking. There's a slim venue of acceptable suffering in an eternal still-shot in the middle, but you're not actually allowed to exist beyond it or past it in any capacity.

The only true DID case is a non-person who is incapable of growth and change, for a disorder that is all about identity, which by definition is all about growth and change.

I'm so tired of it. Sorry, freaks, I'm gonna freak the way that I freak from now on. I'm too well-adjusted these days to be your perfectly martyred poster patient.

ive found that partially treated mental illness can sometimes look to uninvolved onlookers like faked mental illness.

[ecstarry]

regulus cutting his hair shorter for the first time and james just an absolute stuttering fucking mess because god he cant even believe how someone could ever look that hot let alone wrap his head around the fact that he’s the one who gets to be with regulus

[fiona-fififi]

The way people sometimes refuse to acknowledge that writing choices that clearly go against established canon should mean something is endlessly frustrating to me. We don't have to agree on the interpretation, but these writing choices SHOULD mean something.

Otherwise, it's shitty writing.

[rose-lalondde]

sakuino college au where sakura is catsitting for sasuke & naruto but then the cat escapes, so sakura is frantically looking for it. The cat ends up running into ino's apartment/dorm and she ends up contacting sakura (her number is on the cat's collar idk) and that's how they meet for the first time

[spamtoon]

(Out of nowhere, you are approached by a familiar lightbulb-headed Cog.)

Ah, it's you, cat. Thinking you're oh-so-slick. Muttering and whispering under those raggedy whiskers of yours... Thinking I am unable to hear it all...

Well, you've simply underestimated my fantastic hearing. You probably want to know the reason why I'm here, taking a 'break' from my incredibly important scientific breakthroughs? It's quite simple, really!

(She gets close, and squints her eyes.)

I know what you are.

Farewell, now!

(She then leaves the way she came from.)

(Spam giggles immensely, covering her face... it always seems like she's giggling, isn't she? This lasts... at least thirty seconds. Longer than usual.)

And I know what I am too, Sparky! You broke through something, that's for sure. Really, broke through...

(She looks down, continuing to laugh nervously.)

You know, I find it odd you Havent tried to bulb blast me into the stratosphere by now. I mean knowing how you acted with Frostbite. Is there something peculiar about me that you perhaps can't quite track? Something about me that you... don't know what I am?

I know, I know, I'm talking to nobody again. But you were there when I had a moment today with the one the only Frostbite The Bravecog. You may be remaining. Lurking in the shadows. Knowing about these thoughts that I'm thinking.

(The giggling resumes, lasting far shorter this time.)

Your brother's a piece of fucking barp, by the way

(She braces for impact for a few seconds, wincing while smiling, before comically looking around to realize nobody's there. She sighs.)

Wow, okay maybe toony superhero show logic doesn't apply in this situation. Cool.

WAIT I JUST FUCKING REALIZED WHAT SHE MEANT but like. Dude if she meant that then what's the point I mean the whole ahh sellbot department barping knows unless you're Really low on the ladder. Heheh... maybe she did mean what I thought she meant.

Oh i'm so fucking screwed. What kind of bitch gets filament fever

[osshisan]

i know it's risky and i probably should slow my roll to not end up disappointed because this is ensemble stars but i have such high hopes for the valkyrie climax story... if !-era valk was the build-up of mika helping shu (and the unit itself) to recover from the war and regain stability, it feels like !!-era valk has been the process of shu helping mika develop his confidence in his own artwork and humanity in return-- so they can truly be equals. and since we already know the event is a shu center...... i just think there's maximum potential for this story to fuck severely if done right

[enemy-to-the-state]

i am only slightly ashamed to admit that i borderline hate my dad’s gf

[panvani]

I think this is a very silly way to talk about fiction

[pepprs]

the among us thing makes sense really

[arolesbianism]

I should rly get around to designing the Jackies and Olivias from my swap aus now that I have ideas for how to differentiate them for their non swapped counterparts, but at the same time the eternal dread of having to commit to either keeping or changing the gravitas uniform for the swap aus hangs over me with ever increasing pressure, so maybe I can just only draw headshots of them and commit to that til the end of time instead

[atlasllm]

some people think the world ended in 2012, some people think that the world became a simulation shortly after watching frozen (2013) in theatres

[angelicmemo]

My life is quiet. Why do I still feel this?