#versus what it turned out to be

[lovetransaction]

#me thinking back on my weird meta post about how dean only started taking care of the car after john made a comment: yaeh (via @nameslikeguns)

it’s funny because dean only loves the impala because of john and john only loves the impala because of dean it’s a vicious cycle created by a time paradox none of those men actually like that car

[lucabyte]

A belief in Nominative Determinsim

[aforgotto]

Does anyone else get serious Donatello vibes from this guy or am I literally making shit up

[smoosnoom]

(a little life, hanya yanagihara)

[thelemonsnek]

they hate each other except for when they dont. but actually they do

[image id: a series of sketches of Day, a pokemon trainer oc, and Melli from legends arceus. Day is a white person with their hair shaved on one side, and is wearing glasses, a t shirt, a long jacket with stripes on the sleeves, and flame-patterned puffy pants tucked into boots.

In the first sketch, Melli stands side by side with Day. Day looks up at him, extremely unimpressed, as Melli says "oh your coat is just in horrible condition, your terrible galaxy team forcing you to work in the wilds in whats clearly such flimsy fabric just proves how bad you people are". Then, he says, "now I simply insist you allow me, the Great Melli, to repair and reinforce it with my superior sewing skills". He looks down at Day, very smug, as they startle, clearly not having expected an offer of help.

In the next series of sketches, Melli is sewing their jacket with Day watching. Empty speech bubbles hover above Melli as he explains it to them. Then, he hands the jacket over to an apprehensive Day, saying "now you try." Day begins sewing, now more confident and smiling a bit as Melli continues to instruct them. Melli grins, saying "see? how could you fail, being taught by the Great Melli ;)". Day looks at Melli, sick and tired of his shit.

The final two sketches show Day in their newly repaired jacket. They stand looking down at it, smiling in surprised delight. In the first, they face the front, and in the second, they've spun around to look at the back of it. The cuffs of the sleeves, bottom of the jacket, and a couple gashes on the back are the most significantly repaired portions. The shoulders are now embroidered with Hisuian Decidueye inspired patterns, and the gash on the back has been repaired to mimic rays of light. End id]

[descendant-of-truth]

The possibility of them rewriting the original Sonic Generations cutscenes for the remaster is very small, but the alternative is having Pontac and Graff's writing from 2011 juxtaposed with Ian Flynn's current writing in the same game, and I just. don't think anyone is ready for that

[chipjrwibignaturals]

THOUGHT ABT CHIP JRWI INCIDENT 40 DEAD 32 WOUNDED

[myrfing]

ftr i do think lahabrea's design is cool and sure beats out copypaste white middie thancred rank and file but it certainly was a choice of the many. if they had any guts they would've gone with venat or elidibus

[autumnalwalker]

A Dream About Waking And Sleeping 

Author's Note: No idea how my subconscious got stuck on vampires, but here we are. This was one of those weirdly vivid dreams that stuck with me so hard after waking up I had trouble concentrating on anything else all day. Content Warnings: Vampire stuff. Mentions of blood and death (because vampires). A brief scene of fantasy violence. Mention of unspecified animal hunting/death for food. Nothing graphic or in gory detail though.

I awake in a stone coffin.  Or would “sarcophagus” be more accurate?

I slide the lid aside and find myself in a crypt with other such vessels of entombment.  None of them stir. 

I do not recognize this place. 

In a daze, I explore, soon finding stairs going up. The crypt is beneath a church, or at least something resembling one. The roof has fallen in in most places, allowing snow to cover the floor.  

It’s beautiful. 

A man in armor of black chain and plate and brown leather leaps down from the broken rooftop to attack me with a spear, barely missing me with his initial landing.  I can’t see his face under his pointed black helmet and he says nothing, silently going about his grim task of trying to impale me.  

Somehow I manage to keep dodging and evading my attacker, if only just.  We move from room to room within the church, but he is adept at cutting me off from any exits. 

He raises a hand and several heavy books fly from a shelf behind me.  The unexpected projectiles knock me off my feet, allowing the man in armor to close in on me and finish the job. 

At the last moment I break free from my paralyzing fear, scramble out of the way, and pick up one of the fallen tomes. 

While the man’s spear is still stuck in the floorboards I spring to my feet and begin beating him over the head with the book.  Somehow this is to make him fall. 

With the danger passed, it finally occurs to me how strong and fast I am.  Between that and the circumstances of my waking, I find myself wondering if I am some manner of vampire or other accursed undead creature. 

Funny, you’d think I’d remember something as important as dying, but now that I think about it, I can remember precious little before my waking. 

To my surprise, the book in my hands is legible despite its exposure to the elements and its recent repurposing as a blunt instrument.  Between it and the other books on the shelf I confirm my suspicions and learn something of my erstwhile attacker. 

He was once in line to inherit some legendary sword from his father and go on to become a hero and leader of his people, but that glorious destiny was denied him when his thieving brigand of a brother challenged him for it, won, and went on to become little more than a glorified bandit.  Meanwhile this man lying before me was cursed and exiled to this remote place to watch over the interred dead and put them down should they ever rise. 

He was not a happy man, but he took his long and lonely duty with a sacred seriousness. 

I drag him down to the crypt and lay him down in as best a place of honor as I can manage.  I perform what last rites I can glean from the books. 

I still feel horrified by my own action, but I try to comfort myself in telling myself that it was self-defense and at least the man can finally rest free from his own curse. 

Further exploration confirms that the church is indeed far from civilization. I find nothing but snow-covered forest for miles in every direction.

I return to the ruined church.

Eventually another like me wakes.  Or do I wake her?  These things blur together. 

She is a child, or at least she was when she died, and she continues to act like and view herself as one.  She is perfectly content to play in the snow and the woods, alone, with me, or with the skeletons who rise from the crypt around the same time she does.  I never am sure if it’s her that’s raising them or me.  Or if they simply rise on their own. 

Unlike us, the skeletons seem more like automatons than true people.  They never speak and rarely act or change course from their current action without direction from either the child or myself.  But every now and then I find myself wondering.  Once in a while one of them will take an action unprompted, and with time I start to pick out small quirks and differences in - for lack of a better word - personality that allow me to tell them apart. 

Also, unlike us, they require no sustenance. 

After some days, a hunger takes me and I find myself in the woods to hunt.  It turns out that I can sustain myself on the blood of animals and I bring enough back with me to feed the child as well.  I’ve quickly come to feel protective of and responsible for her.  Motherhood has never suited me, so I choose to think of her as a little sister. 

Unlike me, she finds nothing strange about any of our circumstances and drinks the blood as a matter of course. 

It’s a quiet, peaceful life we find ourselves living. For certain definitions of “life” and “living” at any rate.  

But, even with regular feeding, we increasingly find ourselves growing tired.  When Spring comes we return to our coffins in the crypt to sleep. 

It is Winter again when I next wake, but the state of the church and the trees tell me that years have passed, not merely seasons.  Neither I nor the child have aged, of course. 

And so we settle into our cycle of waking for one Winter out of every four or five.  Or is it a dozen?  The gaps seem to be increasing with time. 

Over the cycles I learn that the other “accursed interred dead” truly are the monsters the old texts claimed.  I see to it that they don’t rise again. 

I know not why I always seem to wake first, but it suits me just fine. 

One day, I wake to find my coffin harder to open than normal.  Eventually I break free to find that the crypt has been converted into a basement. The stone coffins have all been covered beneath floorboards or sealed into plaster walls.  Above, the church has been replaced by a strange house.  It is too warm for winter and there are sun-bright humming bulbs inset into the ceiling and adorning suspended fans. Yet, when I look out the glass window it is dark outside and snow is falling to cover the ground. 

A woman hears me moving around and is as shocked to find me in her home as I am to find hers built on top of mine. 

It is a long talk to explain and to get her to believe.  And to not fear me.  And there are enough details that I keep accidentally surprising her by casually mentioning things I’ve grown too used to to think noteworthy.  The skeletons in particular get a more amusing reaction than they ought to. 

Meanwhile, she explains that it has been a long, long time since I last woke.  Going out hunting for game in the woods is no longer viable, for the area is too developed now.  She offers to do what she can to get me and the child through the Winter until it is time for us to sleep again, whether she winds up going to a butcher or a “blood bank.”

During all of this I learn that she is a single mother.  I am delighted to hear that my little sister will finally have someone else her age (in a manner of speaking) to play with. 

I’m concerned though about what finally drinking human blood will do to us.  Not the woman’s or her child’s of course, but what she might bring us. 

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

it's wild because over the years i've gone from shipping nive with some degree or other of fluff/happy endings (or at least hopeful ones; or if it does end badly, it's due to external factors) to just unabashedly wanting them to make each other Worse

[onika-t-maraj]

…

[depresseddepot]

I keep telling myself I'm going to FINISH the games that I start but I just keep buying and starting new ones

[neverendingford]

.

[secretidentie]

When Jason starts building his crime lord career, people start inexplicably comparing him to Matches Malone. They have the same mannerisms, the same fighting styles and a similar build. Some rogues even have theories that they're the same guy.

So when ever Matches is mentioned, red hood mutters "fuck that guy" under his breath and since Bruce puts his whole batussy into his personas, he's starts reciprocating that energy. All the rogues are scrambling to find out what happened to cause this beef. The entire Gotham underground now has to pick a side between one of their own who they've worked with and gotten to know over the years versus the new up and coming crime lord that's offering jobs and improving their lives. While Jason is wondering what he can do to stop being compared to Bruce, Bruce is trying to be a supportive parent (which means making sure the rogues don't turn on J) while protecting his persona he's been curating for years.

[bmpmp3]

on a bit of a roll with synthv rn. ほんのちょっぴり (Orchestra Ver.) from the first episode of Love Live Superstar S1 with Rikka my good friend Rikka (:

[b0mblover]

Hate, in Every Sense of the Word.

By: J

major tws for; suicide mention, domestic abuse, abuse, sexual assult mention, murder mention, (really just alot of violence tbh) self harm mention

uh, sorry? that theres so many tws, ig also minor tw for mention of sex too.

uh haha i uh, can you tell what happened tonight? it wasnt even the worst one, just, im tired of it.

talk abt living out of spite bc mannnn, thats all i been going off of for a good while now!

i uh, i really wanna make a certain food bc um. (LOOK I WANNA MAKW A LESS OILY FUCKER OKAY) but my father is awake meaning my mother will be too soon but im scared to even go out of my room bc theyre prob gonna fighttt.

hhhrbd okok ill shut up for now, go ahead and read the angry jirou bullshit ig 😭

(oh yea, if it wasn’t obvious. im talking about my mother in this.)

——————————

yknow,

you havent been a great person

or a good one even.

yet you still question as to why i dont love you

or like you,

maybe you have an idea of how much i hate you.

maybe not

i dont really care about your feelings.

at all.

not now.

i put up with this for fucking 14 years.

my entire fucking life.

ive put up with your shit.

but now?

now im done.

you have no idea how badly you fucked up.

when he said that “im sorry im a fuck up” 

yknow.

he mightve not been right for what he did.

but,

it was just a mistake.

it was a goddamn mistake.

you have any idea how many times ive uttered those words too?

how many times ive repeated them?

how many times i fucking meant it?

just because you “had it bad” doesnt mean shit to me.

you have no goddamn right to treat others the same way.

dont give me that “i dont know how else to act!”

bullshit.

bullshit you dont.

you treated your damn boyfriend just fine!

you had a goddamn kid

you had two goddamn children.

with this man that you fucking DESPISE.

you knew it back then too.

you told me you did.

you fucking told me.

almost nothing can compare to the anger i feel to you right now.

nothing.

you have no right to act like that.

no.

you have no goddamn right to hit another fucking living being.

for such a simple mistake.

i dont care if he talked about it since friday.

i dont give a fuck if he talked about it for months.

you.

you as a goddamn human.

have no right.

none.

in the slighest.

to hit another living being.

for talking about something in your eyes “too much”

or making a mistake.

youre a hypocrite.

need i remind you?

you said that after you broke up with the man you were having an affair with.

that youd be a better person.

stop the fights.

stop the beatings.

stop all of it.

and everything would be okay!

.

i didn’t believe you for a goddamn millisecond.

youre a liar.

just how you said i was.

you didnt quit.

you didnt stop.

hell two months after you hit him again!

you threatened to kill him and yourself!

cmon.

dont you get it yet?

i fucking despise you.

maybe to a degree i feel shocked.

but.

i really dont think thats it.

youre the root of my problems.

every single last fucking one.

——————

need i remind you as how i had to learn to cook, because you were too busy with your damn boyfriend to help me?

.

need i remind you how when i tried to show you that i was fucking cutting myself when i was 9 you only talked about how it looked ugly?

.

need i remind you about how many times you said that you didnt care if i hurt myself as long as no one can see it?

.

need i remind you about how you ignored the rope burn on my neck god knows how many times?

.

need i remind you how you denied fucking multiple peoples sexual assault because “it couldntve been like that”?

.

need i remind you of how many times i almost had to be hospitalized because of your neglect?

.

need i remind you of how many nights i spent alone, in the cold, in the dead of winter, just because you wanted to fuck your boyfriend?

.

need i remind you of what you yelled at me so many times?

.

need i remind you of what i seen?

.

need i remind you of how many times you blamed your abusive behaviors on medication?

.

need i fucking remind you of my entire purpose?

.

i dont care about your feelings anymore.

i gave up years ago.

but now.

i dont feel just numb for you.

i hate you.

in every sense of the word.

.

i dont care of what you or anyone else thinks of me.

.

i dont care about what you think of my appearance.

.

i dont care if you think im too thin or fat or whatever word youll use next.

.

i dont care about what you think because you’ll hate me no matter what.

.

you thought id stop being xxxx when you broke up with him.

you yelled at me.

no.

you fucking screamed at me for weeks.

im tired of even putting in the slighest effort of acting as if i fucking care.

i dont give a fuck about you.

and yknow?

if.

no.

if it would work.

if it was possible.

id fucking kill you.

id stab you.

right here.

right now.

to end my suffering.

to end his suffering.

all of it.

id end it all.

i dont care if its wrong.

because i know no one else knows about whats going on.

yknow.

only one person around here knows what youve done to him and me.

and i havent even met her in person.

yknow.

the people i used to be close with from school.

only just learned you had an affair.

i know that.

the police are do-less.

since you know them.

and hes a man.

not a woman.

it wouldnt be taken seriously.

that he should just fight back.

yknow.

youve ruined what life he has left.

his parents beat him.

his ex wife beat him, and cheated on him.

and here.

youve done the exact same thing.

yknow.

he’ll never get to see how love truely is.

because of you.

because of what youve done.

i cant say i really like him either.

but.

that doesnt give you the right to ruin his life.

.

yknow whats worse?

how i know the only reason that so far youve never dared to lay a finger on me.

is because ive proved that i won’t hesitate to beat the fuck out of you right back.

i know i joke about that night.

but.

really.

hitting you for doing that was the best decision i couldve made.

its kept me safer than i wouldve been for years. 

and even now.

if you were to as so much to touch me.

while in a fight.

id do it all over again.

you maybe 100 pounds heavier than me.

but you dont know how to fight against someone who wont just sit there and take it.

i wont forgive you for what youve done.

even if he will.

.

i want nothing to do with you.

get out of my life for good.