#something about liminal spaces

[lucabyte]

even dogs pass the mirror test

[aliusfrater]

[zed-the-buggy]

rlly hate how the world has moved towards fast online shipping 4 everything bc i havent Personally moved into that philosophy at All

like im still in the mindset that like. if im buying smth online it should take on the scale of months to show up and cost 20 dollars to ship so i just never bother unless i dont need it right away and its really specific. so every time i order online i feel bad bc this thing i really dont need in such a hurry is being fast track flung across the Atlantic directly to my door in 3 calendar days and im just like please i dont even need this before the year flips.

but then for like normal items i just need i keep trying to find in-person locations that sell it and they just dont bc they have like 5 aisles and theyre all half empty like its the purge and if they do have what i need it's always like 15x more expensive than i can even afford despite being at a walmart.

especially when it comes to things i want to touch or look at before ever buying it really sucks bc sometimes there's just not in person options or only really bad ones

[flowersandspacestuff]

I keep wondering,

What our world could have been like

[nostalgiasoup]

[nevemancer]

Solas (trying desperately to condense his time there into a story), sera (used to finding spaces for herself in places with very little, will take what she needs because its never given), and vivienne (Insists upon herself. and other people giving her space and recognition because she knows what happens when she doesn't have that) being the ones to really make a space Their Own in skyhold makes me surprisingly emotional.

[bittersweetresilience]

how do you think aromanticism can be expressed visually? im not talking flags or anything else as an ID, i mean the experience through art // an aro asking an aro

like.. can you think of the symbol or trope or metaphor of how aromanticism can be expressed? im an artist who has the opposite of artblock rn so i think of such questions a lot sometimes :D i can think of anatomically gorey correct heart or the lack of attraction/"pull" like an anchor

its interesting to hear a writer's pov of the same question :]

before i say anything else i would like to say the idea of aromanticism as an anatomically correct heart is so fucking sick and i love this.

to me the first thing i thought of was... aromanticism as seeing the world through a slightly different color palette? almost like looking at things from behind a pane of vaguely tinted glass. you can see things happening, but they don't appeal to you the same way they do to everyone else. you can imitate it but it sort of feels like you're miming.

other images that came to mind (depressing)...

the center of mass in a binary system. the two stars are doomed to orbit closer and closer until they collide and go supernova, and despite being in the middle you are sort of just there, invisibly.

a black hole.

a knife.

a train where each passenger keeps getting off until you are the only one left sitting.

snow. a wintry landscape.

a dream.

other images that came to mind (less depressing)...

a plant!! maybe a tree. maybe a full canopy.

a notebook.

a rope used for rappelling.

pandas. i don't know why but they seem so aromantic to me.

a long drive at night on the way to pick up a friend.

the beach in the evening. if you listen to a seashell you can hear the ocean of your identity inside, just as sure as the waves that wash over your feet.

[darkacademiaarchivist]

Growing up is so weird because all the places I used to go are still there but they're not the same. I can go down to the lake and have ice cream but it will never be the summer of 2012 again (thank god). My old elementary school probably still has the same ugly yellow curtains but they tore down half of my middle school building. The close to the school are taller now. Shops on the street have opened and closed and it's different but all the places are still there.

If you take down the grave stones the bones remain in the ground. You remember where they are, you can point to the parch of grass, identical to the ones next to it and say "there. This is where my past lays buried" but you can't really grasp it.

You can never go back but you can never fully leave, either. You're forced to exist in this weird liminal space between memory and reality.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 242

   He looks the same as he had that fateful day, a storm raging around him and risking sending the ship down into the abyss. Hair whipping in the wind as the sky roars its deadly challenge echoed by the beasts they all sought to bring down those centuries ago. 

   It looks just as human as they- that is to say not at all, not anymore. A body twisted, sand and lightning melding into a molten sea ever-expanding. Its eyes as gold as the treasure it guards, brilliant blues and greens dancing across bodies in sigils unknown. 

   It looks exactly as it did that time ago, smile dancing on its lips as the sky opened up in torrents, like blood gushing from a wound. “You’re free to go,” it says, in words they understand and words they don’t. “You don’t have to stay here any longer.” 

   “Where will we go?” They ask, so very tired of this eternal battle, of being trapped in crashing waves and storms of water and sand. Being tossed one way and the other, never able to go home, for home was gone long ago. 

   It looks up, their own gaze following, the ship crashing through the dredges of a storm they had thought eternal. And for the first time in eternities, they see them. The stars. Dancing and dripping from a serpentine form that cradles the Sun and Moon, smiling down to the beast and them alike. 

   And so, they take from the seas, and take to the stars instead. 

[lovethytendytenderly]

I’ve been thinking of hockey liminal spaces a little bit and everyone’s favorite liminal space is of course the hrpf hotel room. Anything can happen there. It’s foreign and temporary but a/the character(s) undeniably have ownership of the space. It’s intimate. It’s private. It’s necessary and unavoidable on road trips. The entire team is on the same hall so they can see if someone walks in or hear if someone gets too loud. Nobody is seeing. Characters have to be quiet. They want to be loud. They can hear a pin drop in the room. They can’t hear anything over the noise from outside. Anything can happen when no one is looking. Is no one looking? Are they getting away with it? Does everyone know? There’s a time limit to the room. They’ll check out in the morning and never see that room again. There’s pressure. There’s crunch. There’s just tonight. There’s just this and the four walls of the room. What happens in the hotel room stays in the hotel room. What happened isn’t real. What happened in the hotel room is spilling out and effecting the team. It’s real. It’s real. It’s real.

Really great stuff.

I think my favorite liminal space (and I’m not sure I would call it that but I don’t have a better word) is the locker room actually. It’s empty. It’s full. Somebody is there early. The whole team is there. It’s public. Anyone could walk in at any moment. It’s private. There’s only so many people with access. It’s team only. The coaches are there. The media is there. No one is there. It is solid and unchanging like the logo on the floor. This is their space. It is temporary and transient like the banners strung up to hide the fact that they’re visitors. They do not belong. This is home. This could never be home.

There’s something so delicious about the home locker room and this is their space, they control it but don’t own it. Versus the visitors locker room and this was never their space but they are carving out a moment of ownership as long as they inhabit it. Can they linger at home? Do they have to leave on the road? Also nakedness and various states of dress and undress are just in the pores of the space. It’s polite to look away but do they? Are other things happening that are being politely ignored or cheered on by enthusiastic teammates?

Plus the showers are over there, connected to the locker room and they’re somehow even more liminal.

[pikkish]

idk if this is a good prompt but put doomguy in myhouse.wad I think he would find it enriching

Right, so I've been mulling on this one for a little bit now, n I'm not opposed to writing something for you, I'm just not... entirely sure what to write? Because the thing is, myhouse.wad doesn't actually really have anything to do with Doom as a story. Sure, Doom is important in that it's the vessel through which the story is told and one of the connections between the narrator and his dead companion. But as far as Doom itself goes, and the story about a man who was too angry/stupid to die, fighting demons and saving earth, none of that is at all relevant to myhouse.wad and its story. For all intents and purposes, Doomguy isn't actually a character in myhouse.wad. So I'm not really sure how exactly to fit him in there.

[ilovescp]

I just love everything that reminds me of a old cartoon or the 50s, it's my passion.

[size--2--fish]

does anyone else ever feel like they need to do everything at once becuase theyre running out of time???

[saemiwas]

sorry i just saw that death note fic posting thing you reblogged and my eyes bugged out of my head until i read the tags. i was like “this is just like my blorbos???” and then “oh. these are my blorbo-in-laws” 💀

ahaha i never think about what people who don't know about those must think about all the excerpts i reblog. they are a bunch of terrible insane people that are incredibly entertaining and the whole fic just reads like That™. it's also completely devastating at times so that's also very fun. i couldn't recommend it more if you're feeling up to reading about 800k words.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

I had these weird recurring dreams I had in middle school that I mostly forgot but kept using as fuel for melodramatic daydreams where I was a secret agent slowly dying by poisoning or just me, a kid, dying slowly of brain cancer and it took me like most of a year to figure out that the reason all those angsty middle schooler daydream scenarios I was playing out in my head in the car or in bed at night had a strange edge of deja vu to them because they'd started out as barely remembered dreams. I think it clicked when I was sitting in an airport waiting to board a redeye flight to visit family. there's a certain feeling about sitting in an airport when it's dark out and you're tired. everything is a little bit off. it's a liminal space by definition but as a kid it has a strange melancholy to it that somehow I felt like I'd felt before, and it scared me. it wouldn't get out of my head. I didn't know it them but I was about to spend that entire trip, nearly two weeks, locked in that strange melancholy deja vu darkness. and the thing is that a part of me enjoyed it. was compelled by it. I was scared but it wasn't in a bad way. I called it bad dreams because I didn't have any other words to explain why it made me nervously excited to daydream my own death. it was a feeling of mystery, almost, and bittersweet. but the sweet in that word comes at the end. it was melancholy and I felt like I'd been there before and would die in that feeling. but I always wanted to know more about it. always wondered about the strange recurring dreams and imaginary worlds they sparked. there was always something fascinating about those to me. it always struck something in my emotions that nothing else really can.

and that's what listening to Circa Survive feels like to me

[schlong2]

my achilles design drop i don't give a fuck