#type: typix

[horrorsequel]

i have to go back for more dry needling in a week cos she spent so much time poking me wrong with the needles today... le sigh

[npd-archive]

@radiomogai

Royal-Narchetypix : Narcissistic Personality Disorder neurogender, based on the Royal Narchetype. When your Narchetype feels tied to your gender. “A label modifier for when someone with NPD identifies with things associated with, or identifies with ROYAL aesthetic. This may include struggling with a superiority complex, associating with fancy colours/aesthetics or labels like Prince, King, Queen etc. or has delusions about being royalty that link to your NPD or NPD traits.”

pt: Royal-Narchetypix

originally posted by plurgai

link to the flag in google drive

[borrelia]

typixal stc fan invading archie sonic spaces...

THERE ARE NO STC SPACESSSSS I HAVE NO CHOICE

[selamat-linting]

ok so (in my experience, usa english) as insults (not covering other ways of using the words, bitch especially has a very broad range of use now), bitch and slut are both misogynist insults at their root, typixally but not always used on women, but slut is more sexually focused - someone who has a lot of sex with a lot of people - while bitch is more general and can be applied to a range of situations. “you’re acting like a bitch” = you’re acting mean/rude/unfriendly (in the speaker’s view lmao), “don’t be a (little) bitch” = don’t be a coward, “this assignment is a bitch” = this assignment is difficult/frustrating, “there’s a bitch in aisle 2 who needs some pineapple” = a customer has communicated their request for fruit rudely on the busiest day of the year (this one comes to you from my older woman coworker in the produce dept, shoutout). BUT there is also “making [someone] your bitch”, which does have a more specific connotation of sexual conquest/submission (i’d guess this phrase is more directly related to the literal “breeding female dog” meaning of bitch), even though it can be used for nonsexual things (e.g. beating someone at a video game repeatedly). basically bitch is very versatile and slut specifically implies promiscuity.

Ohhh, i see. Thank you so much!

[greeneyeofenvy]

Lamore haie variations

bc I was bored

Bc why r they all cute? I’m so jelous of her ngl (jelous of a fictional charatcer, typixal)

Almost done with her

[kittycatcarla]

Love the sentiment but ive never seen angels depicted as female before. And ive been to a fuckload of churches in eastern europe

Im not going to get into the fact that angels arent supposed to have genders, im going to get into represenentation alone

So, first theres the two most known angels in orthodox faith: Mihail and Gavriil. Theyre both typixally represented as young men, without beards and with long (usually braided) hair. Most archangels (the highest tier of angels, which Lucifer used to be in) are typically represented like this too

Now, most other angels are represented as *children*, or even infants. Just because they often have long hair doesnt mean theyre automatically female

And Lucifer.. well in most illustration ive seen, it seemed to me as if the inspiration came from goats, leading to the devil looking like a tall skinny man with a small beard and no tits no cock just muscular

So yeah im all for the transmasc headcanon. But you cant really call all angels feminine, or if you do at least show us the artwork in which they were depicted as such

Angels are often depicted as all female. Meanwhile lucifer (a fallen angel) is almost always male presenting. Shoutout to our transmasc king!

[cogbreath]

i jsut get a bit nervous sometimes cuz of that time my bestest friend oded acrually idk why i even mention jt he died from fentanyl so its reallt skmethi g else but i never expected him to die he was the hardest mf ever but i guess thats typixally the ones who die isnt it and yeah

[the-official-account]

2nd @whumptober-2020 fic and okaymaybeIcanwriteangst

This one is seriously heavy. If you’re at all worried, read the TWs at the top of the Ao3 link, there are quite a few so it will be in the tags of this post. Keep yourself safe <3</p>

If you’re good, read on ao3 or under the cut!

archiveofourown.org

Day 2. Starvation

After the intervention, Jon learns to feed himself the right way.

The smell of food turns Jon’s stomach, rubbing like salt against the open emptiness. Making him blanch. He keeps the door to his office shut tight at lunchtime when the people, who though officially his assistants might more accurately be called his captors, bring in their dishes bursting with chili and fragrance.

Statements used to have that same appeal.

Jon rests his head in his hands as that animal bitterness swells up in his shoulders. He is not a hunter, he has _seen _hunters, but that urge to wrench and tear and render into _meat _the things in his path lingers around him despite that.

Even blood-red dries to their bureaucratic brown. Gertrude killed. Elias Killed. Jon should get a go at it at least once, for the greater good. At least victims leave encounters alive. It’s for his own survival.

But he doesn’t _need _it.

He claws at the back of his neck with the reminder, like when he’d started smoking and hadn’t quite shed the stigma, already addicted, not yet shameless. Not dependent, not quite, but damn does it feel terrible without his- his fix.

But this isn’t something he can buy at a drugstore. Not sugar, not nicotine, even opioids would just be another slow death for Jon and Jon alone. The starvation in consuming instead of lacking. Even that wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

Jon doesn’t want to hurt anyone else.

He looks down at his own wrists. There’s nothing sharp in his office, but Jon could find something easily enough. He could do it right now if he were willing to brave the scents outside. That’s how they always do it in movies, yes? Splitting the forearm into pretty, uneven sections. Scars layered over blood like a tapestry. The Archivist in him finds the image oddly soothing, smelling of vanilla creme that doesn’t burn him. Vanilla with the overnotes of something metallic red.

The movies never get it quite right, though. Those scars _show _, they bring pity and gloom and to some, a horrible reminder of times long past, what Jon is trying to fast from. He is not an omen. He is not an omen.

He is just a man who’s knuckles stick out too far from his fingers.

No, if he were to hurt himself it’d be in some less visible way. Denying one’s god satisfaction, for instance, comes back to them eventually. Isolating oneself- Jon thinks of the ghost of Martin that dusts this place like a chiffon nightgown over carpet- is another way. Martin watches, he see’s Jon’s state. Jon knows he knows. Martin’s concern bucks and rears somewhere far, far from where Martin can reach it

The people around Jon all hurt themselves by hurting others, reveling in the backlash before retreating to lick their wounds with the false innocence of an animal fresh from a trap.

Sasha did it by trying too hard, Jon thinks. Probably. He can never be too sure with her memory.

Most people do it in small ways, nails dug into the fleshy parts of fists, smiles where they were not earned, staying up too late for the thrill of knowing one might suffer come morning. Small and sharp pains as a distraction from the larger, duller ones that fall over so many of their lives like a weighted blanket gone awry.

Fear.

Maybe Jon’s fear is of the flesh, now- Before Jon can think, he twitches a finger.

Good.

Maybe his fear is of the corruption, his body scraped clean like a coconut in the hands of a hungry child- his wrist flows into the movement of an elbow.

Good.

What might take him, then? Would it be sickness or decay? Something that creeps or something that writhes or maybe even something that flies? Jon isn’t sure. It’d be easy enough for something parasitic to suckle on his need to be needed. A life source instead of a pawn, that’d be a nice change- The elbow flows to the shoulder, side, hips, feet, Jon is standing, then walking, and his door is open.

The scent of food hits him and Jon’s moving before he has a chance to gag, escape is a motion of momentum, he knows, wedging bits of hope in the gaps left by dreadful introspection and heaving with all one’s might _before _they are ready because _help is not coming _.

Imagines of outside the institute come in flashes. He moves with the familiarity of having lived here a good portion of his later youth. Though his eyes are wide open (they always, always will be) his vision is either black or his mind is somehow looking away.

Jon doesn’t care. He’s preoccupied with an article on his phone. Refeeding syndrome. He won’t see a doctor, no, best not to involve anyone else if he can help it. Potassium matters. He grabs a multivitamin off the shelf of a drug store, cheap and chalky, easy to grind. Someone is trailing him. Basira. Good. There won’t be the temptation to reach for the woman on aisle three who went down a hole of clickbait articles until she couldn’t be sure if any of the celebrities she so admired existed at all, or were just made up for scandal.

When Jon stumbles back to the institute, (he finds Basira holds the door, but doesn’t find the strength to thank her) lunch is over. Good. Fine.

People stumble out of the breakroom when Jon stumbles in. _Whatever, keep going _. And just as quickly he’s choking down his blend of crushed vitamins, instant oats and protein powder that’s _blessedly _vanilla.

Jon can see a little better now. In the way that Matters. The human way. He didn’t realize how grimy their break room was.

It’s peaceful outside his head.

Jon holds himself by the elbows and laughs, then. It hurts where the slush slides down into an unused digestive system, he doesn’t care. Because Jon’s done it again, just like that. The escape, it wasn’t lost to him. He doesn’t _need _Martin to save himself. He doesn’t _need _anyone- and Jon has to pull himself away from that train of thought before he starts weeping with how much he _wants _it.

Jon strokes his fingers reverently over the scars on his arms that healed many years ago. And he’s grateful. Not for some bullshit reason of it making him stronger, no, the doctors could have gotten to him far earlier than they did. But Jon’s forever grateful the scars could scar at all. Not a reminder of pain, but a reminder that he will stitch himself back together, however changed. That skin crawls over muscle and that muscle moves him forward in boughts beginning with the twitch of fingers and continuing into his momentum.

Jon suspects his death isn’t many years from now, he’d come to terms with the fact when he’d called himself _The Archive _. But when Jon dies, though it may not be grand, though it may not be heroic, it will _not _be by his own hand. Jon is _done _hurting people. He’s a person too, now. He eats. Jon is _done _hurting himself.

He’ll face that dull and heavy press of human fear that he sees like no one else can see, with both the ability and the empathy, and if his arms are a latticework of blood and cuts and scars than _damn _all that his or any god claims is holy, Jon’s legs will be his messiah, and he will turn onto his back and push until his weak, _human _heart gives out.

But that is for another day.

The escape is a thing of momentum. So Jon straightens his tie and laughs at himself for wearing one in his state- professionalism beats all, apparently- and goes to fix himself a glass of water.

Tomorrow, Jon will eat breakfast.

[thesnowqueen]

I JUST WANNA CUDDLE

[sandpapersnowman]

important note: the burlesque show we were at has an intermission time for people to get drinks, go to the bathroom, etc, and also has a 'pants off dance off' where audience members can volunteer to go up on stage and dance and strip if they want

one of the people that went up was a dude, and the host gave a talk about how its dumb and hypocritical but he would be allowed to show HIS nipples, because north carolina law only prohibits 'female' nipples on their stage

and the absolute Smugness on this dudes face when he took his shirt off and had top surgery scars Was

[initiumstance]

Photographer (📸): @typixical Owner (🏎): @casey_hav ———————————————————————— #stance #stanced #stancenation #static #low #lowered #lowrider #wheel #wheels #rim #rims #mitsubishi #mitsubishievolution #mitsubishievo #evolution #evo #evox #evo8 #evo9 #jdm #jdmgram #jdmcars #jdmnation #jdmculture #jdmlife #jdmlifestyle #stancedaily #stance_daily #stancemiami #stanceculture https://www.instagram.com/p/CH5kSf-JR6q/?igshid=lfsp22ppydsy

[theluxurylifestylemagazine]

Riding low. Ferrari 488 🐎 Swipe left! What are your thoughts on this car 👍 or 👎 ? By: @typixical, @radrides, @luxurylifestyleauto https://www.instagram.com/p/CKopvX8sk4S/?igshid=1mzugbkkrt46v

[livefolkco]

My mind is flying away with this view... It reminds me good times on the road and make me plan new trips to come! How about you?! By @typixical . Use #lifeofadventure or #LF10K if you have less than 10K followers! Let’s spread out the inspiring stories and amazing photos of the community 🙌🏼 . Chosen by @fabiooliveira Part of the family @portraitfolk (at Somewhere Out There) https://www.instagram.com/p/BzQHdttJPEC/?igshid=1t11aujnas0kt

[hgtvofficial]

Paradise Valley, Arizona

6 bedrooms, 11 baths

15,006 sq ft

$8,950,000

[iloveinklings]

i kind od love tricolor matches. ive won so many od them and even if i dont win i typixally have fun as long as imnnot getting obliterated. the ultra signals are kinda op tho