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this is about procrastinating. or executive dysfunction. i think

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absolutely amazing things happening right now. I had to triple check that these were real

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Map of the United States but now each state touches the ocean

@mapsontheweb @the-real-numbers

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filtering down ao3 results from 14000 to 6 based on a single tag is foul. im sorry none of you are as enlightened as me ig.

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i don’t know how to explain to you people that no matter what a country’s government is like i do not and will not support the US indiscriminately bombing that country’s civilians and i don’t know why that’s a controversial take tbh

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Seidou Week 2025 Day 2 - Family

this is inspired by CanadianLucifer's piece

Zombie

They stared as he dragged himself down the street.

A living zombie, back from the dead.

He was draped in a tattered black cloak. Limp strands of gray hair peaked from beneath his hood – a scarecrow after the crows have turned.

His hands hung limply at his sides. The nails were crusted black with dried blood and scar tissue. He carried nothing in his arms.

Along the sides of the road they whispered:

Is that…?

Isn’t he…?

They said he was dead…

They said he was insane…

Takizawa Seidou…

That name didn’t belong to him anymore. The doctor had taken it from him when he scooped out the rest of his guts and fed them back to him.

A zombie who feasted on his own brains. He had felt his sanity slide down the back of his throat. Sweet. Slimy. Filling his empty stomach. Animating his foreign limbs.

The street he grew up on had never been very busy. Calm, suburban, cookie-cutter houses. Mailboxes and neatly trimmed grass. Kids on bicycles. The elderly with walkers. He had used to walk this very same path. After a day of school. A day of work. Back when he thought he’d be the hero.

And not the villain.

The house would be empty. Another thing the doctor took from him. Another thing shoved down his throat.

How had he gotten here?

A low, guttural sound pushed past his lips. He didn’t think he could form words anymore. What was there left to say?

Doors opened. Neighbours crept onto their stoops. Grief. Horror. Anger. Pity.

He continued down the street.

There was no horde like in the movies. No raving mass of undead flesh. No cries of “Brains! Brains!” Just him. Just one. A forgotten zombie crawling back to the grave like a dog under a porch to die, to lie there and die and decay and return to the earth and stink up the house and lower the property values until someone finally called an exterminator who would look under the porch and find–

“You’re alive!”

He had carried nothing down the street except the putrid corpse of who he used to be but now there was a woman in his arms. She was sobbing. She was short and frail and she was saying that name

Seidou!

and sobbing.

But it couldn’t be–

That would mean–

He wrapped his arms around her back. She smelled like home cooking. Like bedtime stories. Like an empty grave.

“You’re alive.” the zombie breathed.

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school girl Camera-chan using this picrew

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in third grade on the swing with my friend i announced “i figured it out” and my friend said “figured what out” and i said “the meaning of life!” and being third graders this was very exciting so she leaned in and i whispered in her ear “it’s to have fun” and i don’t remember her reaction but i remember how i felt and how i knew so clearly that was the answer. how my small mind was beaming and shimmering with this answer that makes me scoff today but i know that they were right. i was right

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i hate that the word “goon” is associated with guys that jerk off to porn all day now. to me “goon” will always mean burly guys with a thick boston/new york/jersey accent that jump out of bed in black tracksuits and beanies , pick up their favorite crowbar , and carpool with the other goons to work to get their ass beat by batman

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somewhere out there right now is a kid with curly hair being raised by people who have wavy hair at best and those people are giving them 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner and telling them to dry brush it. and that kid is gonna spend all of middle school and high school hating their hair and moping over the flat iron. they're being told right now that if they don't dry-brush their curl pattern into oblivion every morning it means they're unkempt and gross even though they naturally have the kind of ringlets that a thousand bridezillas would commit horrible murders for every june. it's happening right now it's an absolute epidemic and a tragedy every time

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Touka drawing I made,,

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if you weren’t on tumblr in 2012-2015 you’ll never understand the true and primal fear of scrolling through an interesting post and then suddenly seeing