#“Today has been so annoying.

[holeodemony]

TMA has influenced my life more than I'd like to admit.

I carry around a tape recorder at all times.

I correlate every single thing with the fears.

I have a fashion sense sense which is literally a strange mix of Elias, Jon, Martin, and Gerry.

There's just so much of me that has become due to the archives.

It's wonderful and terrifying... which is appropriate when considering this topic.

[javelinbk]

The Beatles interviewed for East at Six Ten, ahead of their concert at the Regal Cinema in Cambridge, 26th November 1963 (x)

[ghouljams]

I do love the mental image you supplied of Price being out there with a broom trying to shoo the Mimic away, like-

Price: Get out of here, shoo!

Mimic: :((

Price: No! Go find another witch to snack on! *whacks*

Mimic: :(((((

You watch from your window as Price leaves your garden. The not-moose moves from one side of the wall towards Price. You aren't sure why that makes your stomach twist. You grip your chest, twisting your shirt in your hand, feeling that warm magic buzz at the tips of your finger again. Price can take care of himself, you're sure of it.

Price feels his tethers pull tight as the mimic walks towards him. The overgrown beast doesn't even have the common courtesy to pretend to be a regular animal. It stares right at him, it's eyes moving in different directions as it attempts to keep its focus on you as well as the new threat. Price cracks his knuckles, moves towards the mimic with the same predatory intent that it had been.

"Fuck off," Price advises the mimic, "kindly."

The mimic stops, shakes it's head. It's lips pull back in what Price is sure is supposed to be a terrifying display. He will admit that the noise it makes is downright unsettling, the sobbing wail that seems to broadcast from the mimic. It's face doesn't move at all, the sound just shakes out of it. Price raises a brow.

"You don't look starving."

Another wail from the mimic, the moose turns and butts its horns against the threshold. The twist of horn against your wards makes even Price grimace. It unhinges its jaw to press the full extent of its teeth against the garden's barrier. Price growls, leaning to reach over the wall to grab your watering can.

The iron burns.

Price twitches, his jaw clenched as his head pulls to one side. The unnatural sting of metal against his skin is almost as unpleasant as the scream the mimic lets out upon seeing it. The glassy eyes of it roll to look at him, it slides its teeth off the threshold like dragging knives through molasses. It gives another wail, almost bargaining. Price weighs the sentiment against the iron in his grasp before swinging the can hard at the mimic.

The creature flinches, stumbling back away from him. It drops its head low, menacing. Price doesn't move except to raise his free hand and make a shoo-ing motion.

"If you're not going to leave on your own I have no qualms makin' you."

The mimics eyes roll between Price and the house. It's lips curl, tongue lolling out over its razor sharp teeth. The menacing posturing doesn't let up, in fact the mimic almost seems to be challenging that assertion.

"Price," it sobs in your voice. Price's eyes narrow, his grip on the iron watering can tightening. The burn of it bites into his flesh.

"Now you're tryin' to make me mad." He growls, the mimic takes a half step back, "I'm tryin' to be civil, bet you can't even remember that part of yourself."

A step forward, the mimic attempts another show of aggression only to be caught by the swing of cold iron. The metal scrapes fur and flesh from its muzzle, oily blood sloughing off it into the snow before it can pull its skin back together. It scrambles back away from Price, away from your property. The mimic tries another sobbing voice, aiming for sympathy over threats. Isn't it pathetic? Cursed with only might and the decaying sense it once had as a human. If it could just get enough magic...

"Then find another witch to snack on, this one's mine." Though Price imagines any witch it finds will yield the exact same results. Well, maybe not exactly the same. He can't think of a single other fae that would- That would be eager to help? Have the tethers to be called on? The conviction to grab Iron in defense of their- of a witch. God help him this is getting out of hand.

The mimic seems to ponder this for a moment. It's neck twisting its head one way then another, its horns scraping the snowy ground as it does. It lets out an agreeable is terrified scream, before turning and making its way back into the thicket of trees. Price watches it go for a moment before tossing the watering can back towards the fence with a pained swear.

He grips his wrist, staring at the consumed flesh, the sinew revealed by the acidic burn of the iron. His fingers clench and shake, the muscles pulled tight with pain. Behind him the house door opens and closes, the iron back gate creaks, the sound of rapid footsteps through snow reaches him. He turns in time for you to throw your arms around him.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," You squeeze your arms tightly around his shoulders. Price wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you more securely against his chest. You pull away too quickly to cup his face graciously, briefly, between your hands. He can feel his tethers singing for you as you leave his hold, eager to have you close again. His fingers still drag along your waist, reluctant to stop touching you as you turn to grab his injured hand.

Your fingers are so gentle as they graze the outer edges of the wound. Your expression pained, it makes him want to rip his hand from your hold. Instead he lets you finish your exam, his fingers tightening on your waist when you prod a little too hard. You mumble a quiet apology and release his hand, crouching to pick up a handful of snow.

"This might feel a little strange," You tell him, without actually telling him what exactly it is that's going to feel strange. You press the snow against his hand, careful to spread the ice down his fingers as well. Sort of weird that you'd think he'd never iced a burn before.

You lean over his hand, your face close to the snow, close enough he can feel the brush of your breath as you exhale. Then your lips move, and he feels it. The soft shift of the wind, the ringing in his ears, the lacing of his skin knitting back together under rapidly melting ice, the magic that races up his arm and circulates through his heart like a shot of ecstasy. Your grip on his wrist is far flung from the light touches it was, and he sees why now.

Your magic makes him want to jerk away, an involuntary reaction that he tries to steady as soon as it happens. It's hot and molten, it rustles past his ears like a sea breeze, and it is a foreign body invading his own. Price's pulse races, instinct keyed to the highest settings, and you are mouthwatering. All potential power and pretty packaging. He brushes your hair off your neck with his uninjured hand. You're so trusting. He can feel the itch in his teeth, and smell blood.

Price grips your shoulder hard enough to bruise, and leans down to press his teeth to your neck. He can feel your pulse rushing under his tongue, smell your scent under all those lovely herbs. You drop his hand and he's quick to thread it through your hair, to hold your neck long for his consumption. There's no pain, and the tethers between you are so brilliantly warm. No pain. Price blinks. The ringing is gone, the sea breeze gone, you're not holding his hand. You're finished.

He pull back, looks at how you've squeezed your eyes shut, lips thin with fear. That's not right. Fuck.

"Fuck," Price clears his throat, it feels like he hasn't had anything to drink in days, "I'm not gonna hurt you, that's-" He takes his hands off you, as a show of sincerity. Tension bleeds out of you as you open your eyes.

"I told you, it'll feel weird." You tell him, turning quickly to go and grab your watering can. Weird is not how he'd describe it, nor is that how he would've warned about it. But it's done now.

"That was real magic," Price swallows, flexes his fingers now miraculously, magically, healed. You don't miss a step in your quick pace back to your garden.

"It's all real magic," You call over your shoulder, "I just didn't use a buffer this time."

You only turn to look at him when you're closing your garden gate, your smile a little shy and your cheeks pink. You mouth a last 'thank you' and disappear into your house. It's strange. There should be a new tether between you, something solid, something the weight of unfiltered magical expertise, but there's nothing. Even done out of just the kindness of your heart he should have some evidence that you'd done him a service, nobody gives themselves that freely. Even those that do, a recipient would never accept such a gift without a debt; save maybe the few foolish enough to think they're in love.

Fuck.

Fuck.

[mishapen-dear]

HUGE probs to cc!forever btw i thought he added the furniture thing as a joke option to like- legitimately get under q!bad's skin to give cc!bad an excuse to give his cubito more problems. but no apparently his chat were just instigators and made that suggestion to him 😭

i'm so impressed by how he got blindsided by a Full Lore Mode angry q!bad and kept his cool, and worked to communicate, and admitted when qbad had a good idea about the voting (qbad could NEVER), and went and got Cellbit when he realized the language barrier was too much. absolute king shit over there. like here he is trying to legit make the server better on a meta level and gets blindsided by q!bad's lore problems and he rolled with it so so well. he's doing legit such a good job for the server

and this is like- me being a bad fan, and i know it was an accident, but im very grateful to him for how that shook out. every time bad starts to get a little lore moment or something dramatic for his storyline, it fizzles out or gets overtaken by something else. cc!bad has been doing a great job with his storytelling/roleplaying and building up a narrative of feeling unappreciated/like a helping object instead of a person (and i could GUSH about the parallels between qbad and qforever and how they recognized those feelings in each other) but!! the point is that cc!forever did it. even accidentally. he created a catalyst event that could finally get my favourite little cubito off of his rocker (FINALLY), and bad is a good person to get off of his rocker. this is going to be a gorgeous little storyline that i am going to enjoy so so much. forever wanted to do good for the server and the story and by god he has done it

[volitioncheck]

i think i wouldn’t hate disco elysium’s collage mode nearly as much if it weren’t for 1) the way that it was marketed in such a tasteless, soulless manner, let alone the fact that it was a last ditch distraction from a dead on its feet studio piloted by dumbass thieving execs and released on the day of the court declaration, and 2) those dumbass fucking stickers

like if it had been included with the base game from the start and had been titled something a bit more tasteful and in-line with how i would have liked the feature to be marketed as— something like “exploration mode”, something that perhaps could only be unlocked after completing the game for the first time, AND didn’t have those stupid as hell visually and tonally incongruent with the artstyle stickers, i would have applauded it as a nice little bonus for being able to study and appreciate the 3d models and environments for reference.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[slutdge]

day 9,047 of the dont kill yourself challenge

[sollucets]

Tell me what we were going to do! [fake snores]

What is our relationship? We’re… what should we be? We're friends! […] Fine, we're boyfriends. Happy now?

Aren't you going to say it back? Do I have to?

[icewindandboringhorror]

Some (late) holiday photos of the boye~!

[thatgremlinkid]

Shipping your favs together is so funny because what do you mean I’ve been thinking about Diggers and Click going on scenic road trips in Diggers van and they occasionally stop so Click can take pictures of the wildlife and greenery just because I lobe them like what is wrong with me

[lnkedmyheart]

I don't know, I think its weird that so many people are trying to blame soukoku shippers for imaginary problems and acting like skk shippers have a gun to their head forcing them to do things.

Like I dont understand how Hoshikawa drawing 15 is a bad thing just because the same artist made beast just because YOU made up some headcanon in your head. I dont understand why any exploration of Dazai and Chuuya's dynamic in the past gets written off as Asagiri being forced to pander to the "yaoi loving fetishizing" skk shippers as if those two aren't major parts of each other's past and don't have a complex and deep bond. I get being overwhelmed by too much skk content when you dont like it. But to actively make up lies so it can justify your hateful narrative against a bunch of people just trying to enjoy content through made up non existent scenarios is weird as hell to me.

And it just rubs me really weird that skk shippers get written off as yaoi fangirls like many of us aren't queer people interacting with a queer ship. Or is yaoi fetishizing only limited to skk or other popular ships and not whatever ship the anti fixates on?

The number of times I have seen the mildest interaction between skk be written off as cheap fanservice and pandering to the skk shippers is insane. Chuuya appears and doesn't talk about Dazai? Cheap fanservice. Chuuya shows up for a plot relevant role? Cheap pandering. Dazai has a nice moment with any other character? Character development. Dazai is nice to Chuuya? Cheap fanservice. And the moment we got light novels and side manga adaptations of said novels for skk everyone just started raging at and bashing skk shippers and Chuuya stans like we were personally offending people that Asagiri decided that 1 of his many bsd pet projects happened to be about the past of a character who is a major part of Dazai, one of the main character's past. As if stormbringer, fifteen, dead apple and the dragon head prologue parts didn't add anything to Dazai's established character.

I am so tired of skk haters acting like they are the victims of neglect by Asagiri or acting like Asagiri, Hoshikawa and Harukawa are sobbing in a locked room and only getting slices of dry bread when they pledge allegiance to skk nation or some shit.

[podraje]

[me to me]: writing is your hobby. Hobbies should be fun. It's not your job. You can write whatever you like. You don't have to force yourself to do it. You are not useless If you don't feel like writing. You want to be an author, but you're not yet. You might as well get published after 30. It might not be the story. It might never become your job. It's okay. You should be having fun. Write as many things as you want. Have as many drafts of different stories, as you want. You already have one job, you don't need to fall under the pressure to capitalize off of everything you do. HOBBIES SHOULD BE FUN!!!

[lavampira]

you know the day is going to be a doozy when you wake up with anxiety already eating you alive 🫠

[magentagalaxies]

.

[puthyflapps]

Swifties prove everyday that they’re the dumbest people on the internet and that’s really saying something cuz I’ve dealt directly with blarkes

[tellthatbrokebitch]

sorry i know this is getting annoying, but i’m kinda running out of time. i’m going home in six days and can’t really afford… anything, really. if you see this and could reblog, i’d really appreciate it! 🫶