#big brain activated

[dnncats]

slaying while slaying 🔪🩸

still + alt color:

[royalarchivist]

Pac: Take care of Ramon, take care of Richas, ok? See you on the other side, big boy.

Fit: [Laughs] Take it easy, big boy. Take it easy, big boy. Actually, nononono– You can't just say "big boy" and then just expect me to not drag you outta here. [Fit tries to lasso Pac] You're coming with me.

Pac: No, I need to leave!

Fit: You're coming with me. You are not dying today! You are not dying today!

Pac: I need to leave, Fit! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!

Ironmouse: Are you guys like, having sexy time?

Fit: There's homosexual activity going on Mouse, don't worry about us, ok?

Ironmouse: You guys, we don't have time to be gay right now.

[ Full Transcript ↓ ]

-

Pac: I'm just here to say goodbye to you, Fit.

Fit: Goodbye? We're not– we're gonna be fine, we're going to get out of here, don't worry.

Aypierre: Yeah, don't worry!

Pac: I know, but like– I will sleep until the end, you know? I will pass through this moment sleeping, man. I won't be able to be awake for the moment.

Fit: [Laughs] You know, it's– I mean, if that's how you wanna go, but– I mean, that- I mean, isn't that bed kind of like.... I don't know, it's–

Pac: No no, I will be staying on the sofa, you know, I will be staying on the sofa.

Fit: Oh the sofa. Ok, that's a nice sofa! Yeah, that is a pretty nice sofa.

Pac: Yeah, it's a nice sofa right? No, yeah– I'm going to stay on the sofa, you know? So, since I will be going Fit... [Pac starts tossing Fit all his items]

Aypierre: [Not paying attention to their conversation] Is that bigger cell? I don't think it's a bigger- biggest one.

Fit: Oh... Thank you Pac, thank you.

Pac: Everything you need to survive, ok?

Fit: Wow.

Aypierre: Wow.

Pac: And if you need this one also, maybe, who knows? [Throws him more items]

Fit: Ohhh, well hey– just take this to remember me by, ok? [Tosses him a photo of himself – the same one Aypierre was carrying all day yesterday]

Pac: [Laughs] Ok, I will sleep holding the picture you know, like this. You know, I will dream about you, Fit. And I hope this is gonna be good dreams. I see you in the other side. Good luck, my friend.

Fit: The other side... Yeah, you know, yeah, we– we– you know? It's been an honor, Pac. It's been an honor, you know?

Pac: Yeah, for me too, you know? Take care of Ramon, take care of Richas, ok?

Fit: Ok.

Pac: See you on the other side, big boy.

Fit: I will sing your praise– Oh yeah, hey– [Laughs] Take it easy, big boy. Take it easy, big boy. Actually, nononono– You can't just say "big boy" and then just expect me to not drag you outta here. You're coming with me.

Pac: No, I need to leave!

Fit: You're coming with me. You are not dying today! You are not dying today!

Pac: I need to leave, Fit! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!

Fit: Sorry, there's–

Pac: I'm sorry!

Ironmouse: Are you guys like, having sexy time?

Fit: There's homosexual activity going on Mouse, don't worry about us, ok?

Ironmouse: You guys, you guys– we don't have time to be gay right now, come on. There's no time.

Pac: No, there's no time! Oh, goodbye Fit...

Fit: Ok, c'mon, no no no, come on, we got this we got this!

Pac: Goodbye Fit, I'm sorry!

Fit: [Laughs] Oh no...

[uncreativeusername123456]

Leela doodle reupload the original version had a weird head so i had to fix it. I have some more doodles of fry and other stuff in this style I might or might not post

[danzinora-switch]

FAM!!!!!

I was rewatching 'Bug Busters' and TELL ME WHY THE GATEWAY TO THE BATTLE NEXUS LOOKS LIKE THIS!

This was like, THREE YEARS before we knewwwwwww!!

[canisalbus]

Every time I see Machete in his Fabulous Cunty Boots I think about my dog, who cannot wear his little rain shoes without doing the Big Floppy Steppies of Confusion almost the entire time he wears them. Which is a very funny image when combined with Machete's character 🤣

.

[hannahssimblr]

Friday, days since the exhibition, and I haven’t seen her. Spoken to her, yes, by text, though her messages are short, formal. Good morning, I’ll say, and she’ll respond the same. Check-ins during the day, here and there. Skipping lunch this afternoon. Is my phone charger at yours? Maybe I’ll call you after your shift. Feeling wrecked, actually. Maybe tomorrow.

I don’t go to hers after work, but home to Neukolln, where the apartment is always cold, and Dalia is there. Having a cigarette outside, yammering on to Jonas through the half-open balcony door, or painting her toenails on the new sofa with the TV on. 

I want to ask her if she’s heard anything from Astrid with more substance than her sparse messages to me provide, but don’t, anxious to seem like a man who’s methodically destroying his own relationship. 

“She’s super busy this week,” I explain, when one of them asks why I’m home so often. “College stuff, you know?”

Dalia nodded then, saying, “Yeah, she mentioned a lot of art history essay work, I guess. That makes sense.”

Art history. Yes. Steffan—that smug, self-righteous bastard. 

I go to his lecture, anyway. My grades depend on it.

It’s warm on the second floor of the Bundesallee building, students settling into their seats, raindrops still clinging to black coats, and the smell of damp wool in the air.

I find a seat near the back. 

He’s five minutes late, Steffan, strolling into the room with a takeaway coffee, all rumpled with that leather satchel slung casually over his shoulder in a way that ignites an irrational rage in me. 

Modernism and the Avant Garde continued today, something about wreckage. Death of the renaissance, or whatever—I understand in broad strokes. I write: “Colonialism as aesthetic resource?” and stare at it until the words blur. No idea what I mean by it, really.

Steffan makes some joke that people laugh at half a second before I understand it, as though they were briefed beforehand, not that I would likely laugh, anyway. He’s not that funny, if it matters. 

But then, like some petty punishment, he picks on me for an opinion of some Höch photomontage, slight mocking tilt of his head. My face goes hot. I stutter something about modern life, fragmentation, gender, or whatever, and he interrupts to rephrase it in more elevated terms, makes the point his own. The girl next to me writes what I said into her notebook. 

Lunchtime, in the drizzle, and a headache behind one of my eyes, Astrid sends me a text. 

Lecture go okay? 

I’ll respond later. 

The smell of the bakery softens the edge of things, stomach grumbling like some animal coming to life. Hunger, my constant companion. Join the queue and peruse, peer through the crowd toward the sandwiches, enticing behind the glass. 

I’m still holding Astrid’s message open when a girl joins the line ahead of me. White puffer coat, light brown hair skimming her shoulders, weight shifted to one foot, and her boot turned inwards. I get an anxious flutter in my chest. 

She orders a sandwich in the wrong language, of course. It is not Evie, and her droll, midlands accent, but something about her is close enough to snap my brain to attention. I stand expectantly, like she might turn around and recognise me, as if she’s in a bakery in Berlin ordering a sandwich. 

I used to see her everywhere, phantom versions. Like, only Evie from the side, or Evie in the corner of my eye, until I looked, and it wasn’t, but it’s been so long since she’s haunted me like that. Seeing her here feels like the return of an old ghost.

 I take out my phone and snap a sly picture of the girl. Start a new chat in the message app. 

Thought you’d followed me to Berlin. 

I attach the photo. 

Your German doppelgänger? 

My heart rate ticks up, a rush that feels like getting away with something. I glance around the bakery as if someone might be reading over my shoulder, though no one here knows either woman.

Evie types, three dots bouncing. 

I have reached the top of the queue, and now the worker looks at me expectantly. 

“Uh, whatever that girl just ordered.” 

I order a pastry too. Stand glued to my phone while I wait for it. 

New message. 

So weird, because I just saw your doppelgänger, too.

She sends a picture of a church gargoyle, snow capped, his grotesque little mouth gaping open in a frozen scream. 

I laugh. So stupid. 

Yeah, spitting image. Still snowing in Dublin? 

My lunch is ready. I take it outside and unwrap the sandwich beneath the bakery awning as rain patters on the pavement. 

As you can see. 

Cheese and salami on wholegrain bread. Fuck sake. German Evie has horrible taste. Text clumsily with my left thumb while gnawing on it. 

So much for spring. The weather in that country is crazy.

‘That country?’ You mean yours? Are you suddenly not Irish anymore?

I meant our country, obviously.

Too late. We’ve already been disowned.

Huff out a laugh, step out onto the street and amble along, staring at the screen. It fades, and I tap it with my thumb to keep it alive. Hesitate over the keyboard. Type something and delete it. I’ve always been a shit texter. Never had the patience for it. And there’s something I miss in her voice, the cadence of home. Before I can think better of it, I ring her. 

She picks up after two rings, confused sounding down the line: “Hello?”

“Yeah, hi.”

A beat. 

“I…” clear my throat. “I wanted to infer from your tone whether you were amused or annoyed.” 

“Oh. Well, you sound insecure.”

“Okay, to be honest, I knew you were amused. I just don’t like texting. Especially while I’m trying to eat.”

A rustling on the line, like she’s switching from one ear to the other. “What are you eating?”

“Thought you didn’t want to hear about my lunch.”

“Well, tell me about it if you want. There’s nothing urgent happening with me.”

“Uh, a multigrain roll with salami and cheese.”

“Multigrain?”

“Yeah.”

“With like, eleven types of seeds?”

“Mhm.”

She guffaws. “Jesus, you’ve gone awful healthy, haven’t you?”

“I got a vanilla pastry too,” I say for some reason, knowing her approval of the pastry will dictate my enjoyment of it.

“Ah, sounds nice.”

I take a bite, and with it still in my mouth, ask her, “what did you have? For lunch, like.”

“A flat white.”

Interesting. “Nice. A substantial meal.”

“Well, everything is closed at the minute, on account of the snow, so.”

“Everything?”

“Yeah, except for this random coffee shop on Dame Street. It’s like the apocalypse over here, to be honest. They’re after shutting the place down.”

“They’ve been known to do that, haven’t they?” I check myself. “I mean, we have, of course. We, the Irish, a collective.”

“Ha ha,” she drawls, audible eye roll. “So what are you doing today, anyway?”

I feel a lift in my chest, like, yes, she’s talking back, letting me talk to her. I continue quickly in case she changes her mind. “Nothing now. I had a lecture this morning, and now it’s lunch, so I’m just talking a walk.”

“How was it?”

“Fine, yeah. Fine.” Time to shift the subject off me. “And you?”

“Like I said, just grabbed a flat white. I’m in town.”

“Doing what?”

She makes a sound, like “Hm,” then says, “Walking around like you. Killing time.”

“And what are your Fridays like when it’s not snowing?”

There’s a beat of silence. When she laughs, it sounds thin. “Um, whatever, like. I just hang out.”

“With friends?”

A noise of vague agreement.

“Where, usually?”

“My God. You’re asking questions the way my mam would ask questions.”

“I am?”

“Yeah! Like, where were you? Who was there? Et cetera. I dunno what I do on Fridays. I just go with whatever is happening. Tonight I’ll probably watch TV. Is that exciting enough?”

I drop it. “Yeah, TV is exciting.”

“You don’t watch TV,” she says, accusatory tone on her. “You’re far too busy.”

“Is that so? Busy doing what?”

“Being mysterious. Getting involved in mysterious activities.”

I smile. Mysterious sounds better than panicking over college, ferrying takeaways, and arguing with Astrid.

 “You’re right, I am doing that. Predictable.”

“Knew it.”

We talk for twenty, maybe thirty minutes while I have my lunch. Just walking, looping the same streets. My shoes are soaked through now, socks damp and cold against my feet, but I keep going. Don’t remember most of what we say, just her voice in my ear, the crunch of old snow under her feet, a stray voice now and then as she passes someone on the path.

I imagine her walking there, that curved street around Trinity, maybe, the frosted buds on the trees, sky ice blue and harsh, shadows sharp over the ground.

“I should go,” she says eventually, and my hair is wet now from the rain.

“Yeah. Call me back anytime. This was nice.”

The line goes quiet. 

I check the time. The message from Astrid waits there on the screen. 

Lecture go okay?

My finger hovers, then I switch off the screen. What could I say? That I sat there hating her professor? That he was a fucking dickhead? And that I spent my lunch walking around in the rain talking to another woman? 

I head back towards college, the phone still hot in my pocket.

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter

[wyervan]

every fucking time i see your asks and your art i think about the comic (very short) that i want to draw of them! But my lack of confidence and procrastination prevents me frome doing it!! And i fight with myself to just write it down but it would be so much better drawn!!

*throws a temper tantrum in the corner of your ask box*

Bromosapien, we are in the same boat in this sea of artistic fear 🙂‍↕️. Can’t tell you how many comics and illustration ideas I got playing in my mindscape that I’m too paralyzed to put to paper. Almost every time I’m drawing, I’m wrestling my inner critic.

There’s probably not much I can say to alleviate your struggles, but for what it’s worth—I think you’re an amazing artist, Inky. All your characters are full of so much life and personality. I’ve literally just sat browsing your drawings when i see your name pop up in my notifs or dash. So like ya, i’ll love whatever you make if the mood carries you to make.

[halloweeneva]

I remove my mask (ADHD) only to reveal a second smaller mask underneath (Chronic Fatigue)

[macchiatosdumptruck]

I genuinely feel like if johnjoshhayden just admitted to themselves and others that they don't like Daniel instead of trying to justify their "both sides are wrong" takes they could start on their journey to healing

[trustworthycinnamon]

howdy Dirk Nation how are we feeling about splinter parallels

[rinsko]

dilly post-main update (sylus arc) thoughts: wah… i am in love. the way infold writers create such a unique depiction of the n109 zone and a rollercoaster of a story for mc! i adore the entrance and departure of dimitri’s character, having first met him as your shielding protector to later, your very own killer… how maniacal he sounded as he began to reveal his true nature and intentions! (extremely vivid voice acting btw.. it was insanely good for everyone during this new update) i have absolutely no idea how mc processes these revelations, how harsh and cruel it must be to hear you don’t belong in the world you’ve made into a home, the only world you remember. that’s why the connection between sylusmc is insanely special to me (as is zaynemc!) because of how much they always remind you of your own strength and relieve that unease inside you, how often they will have you know your presence and the essence of your being belongs in their world, if nowhere else. it moves me every time mc is given such gentle love and care despite protesting to be capable on their own, when mc is reminded to be more self aware of their own life and limits— to be less self sacrificial and to be more selfish (cue sylus saying “i don’t mind being used by you.” playing in a loop) it comes instinctual to him to watch over you… whether as a child, the gladiator who took you away from constant terror and battle, or as the man who’s settled himself nearby and watched you grow up from afar, he’s always been there to pull you out, and he will always be there to save you.

[fisheito]

a taste of Things I Draw in the hazy juncture of drowsy---sneep

[mars-ipan]

what is lovemaol

i do not know how to even begin to explain something that i can barely comprehend

[girl-named-matty]

your honor they r married

Ada - @adalinda-selwyn

[frogintheair]

pandreo & alear gummies

[comradecowplant]

*** weewoo weewoo, Severance rant incoming, avoid or gather 'round depending on your preference, weewoo weewoo***

oofda Severance went from what's gotta be the best episode in the series-- visually, emotionally, character drive, general plot development, etc.-- to probably the weakest. Dgmw, I absolutely adore Patricia Arquette's performance as this sad off-putting woman and was eager for a Cobel check-in, but back-to-back bottleneck episodes leading up the finale was a TERRIBLE pacing choice, just completely missing the mark in a season that has already been plagued with pacing issues-- I'm lookin' at you, beloved by many but meh to me bc I have never been a melly shipper & thought it was a frustrating cut-away from the previous episode's dramatic final moment, Woe's Hollow-- & did not really provide much new information/plot momentum to make up for it-- yeah yeah Cobel lifelong Kier cultist, child labor & mommy issues, groomed & exploited scientific prowess, Lumon ruining anachronistic ether-huffing towns economically & spiritually; didn't really dig deeper or meaningfully build on anything we already know of in a away that needed to be a full break-away episode for, imo. Coulda & shoulda been the b-plot to a Milchick's continued spirit breaking/background to Ms. Huang (which would have very much thematically tied together to each!) -focused episode. And considering how short the episode is compared to the rest, I kind of suspect it might have began production that way but it was changed for some reason further along, but that's purely vibes based speculation.

These pacing issues paired with the knowledge that there are only nine episodes a season in this silly era of television, I am increasingly nervous about the finale, particularly considering ms dipshit mama bear super sibling withOUT a background in neuroscience who thinks she knows better than the scientist who was already digging around inside his noggin Devon followed through and reached Cobel 🤦‍♂️ like, clearly there are cracks in Cobel's Kier worship/Lumon militancy-- I think she has an ego that 1) cannot forgive how tossed away she was, especially with the newest detail of her being the overlooked inventor of the severance technology, & 2) despite the indoctrination, she has enough self-preservation to bridge the cognitive dissonance that rationalizes Lumon's abuses now that it's HER that might get locked away in the mind wipe torture basement-- but you're watching a different show in a different universe if you think we've gotten any evidence to strongly indicate that she is actually trustworthy. As the inventor of the chip she could be the perfect person to help Mark with the final reintegration steps... or, as I suspect will be more along the lines of what will happen, she could activate any of the other "modes" that have so far been only eluded to/cause further brain damage/betray mark & ragbhari to leverage herself into a better position with lumon/whatever will benefit her in her quest for... well, besides survival & credit for her invention, I really can't say for sure what her motivations currently are, but legitimate compassion & concern for Mark/the innies certainly are not among them.

Idk, just overall I think this season has put its hands in too many plot pies, especially now that the other outies have been given more character development time, a choice I've liked overall but that has not been 😏 integrated 😏 well with the rest of the story, largely because (forgive my repeating myself) of the pacing/9 episode limit-- we've gotten the central Mark reintegration plot, then we have melly romance b-plot, dylan emotional affair with his own wife c-plot, outie irv + his relationship to the testing floor & whatever the fuck is going on with burt/his husband d & e-plot, milchick being racially micro-aggressed f-plot, ms huang & the spectre of child labor g-plot, nasty lady helena eagan & her sinister side swept blunt bang h-plot, whatever cobel's deal is i-plot, the general overarching What Evil Mysterious Schemes is Lumon Up To j to whatever plot, and finally, the most pressing plot point to me that has been frustratingly shelved until episode 7, What's Happening to Gemma plot. I don't expect nor want wrapped packages with bows, but satisfying narratives involve give and take, and I simply don't have much confidence in the real estate provided by the 49 remaining minutes of the season that we'll get much of anywhere (except mad over what bad things are likely about to happen to Gemma, that is one thing I have begrudging confidence in 😔)