#maybe it would become home again?

[idk-anymore-mydudes]

I had never got such strong feelings of emptiness from a house until today. While checking my parents' place while they were gone, I found myself looking from corner to corner, trying to find some sense of home that was lacking.

It wasn't that I didn't recognize rooms or that furniture had been moved. It was more like everything was veiled in a veneer of unfamiliarity. The record player next to the piano? Faceless. Meaningless. I knew it was my mom's, and it belonged to her mom before that. However, the feeling was akin to just acknowledging "that's a record player", like you would while viewing a to-scale diorama in a museum.

I wonder if the main cause of the disconnect was that my parents are not returning for a while, an unusual occurrence.

I always thought that I'd cling to their house once they passed or, at least, cling to it as long as I could. Maybe, when the day comes, I will. After today, though, after the utter lifelessness of the house when they were not due to return . . . well . . . I think it was true to say that I'd be clinging to a house, not my home.

[rubenesque-as-fuck]

Oopsie daisy, we accidentally spent almost 5 full hours in my room 🥴 damn I had truly planned on buying him a nice dinner after sex too

[writeyourdarlings]

steve likes riding his motorbike to the beach at night. the roads are quiet, and the cool air brushes his cheeks as gentle as a lover's hand.

the ocean scares him a little, if he’s being honest. the way the waves crash onto the sand and break against the rocks—the loud sound sometimes catches him off guard. it reminds him of that time he fell from the sky, diving the plane into the ocean with nothing but stillnes and darkness waiting for him at the bottom. it reminds him of those men he once read in history books—of young japanese pilots who plunged their planes into their targets and vanished into the ocean. kamikaze, he recalls the word. the almost-similarity seems haunting to him.

but still, he keeps coming back.

each night, he parks his motorbike and walks toward the shoreline. he takes off his shoes and socks, rolls up his pants, and lets the cold sea foam kiss his ankles.

he doesn’t step in too deep, but it's enough for him to introduce himself like a shy new kid standing at the front of the class. enough to befriend the ocean all over again and whisper: hey, beautiful.

and when the waves turn a little bit calmer, steve thinks the ocean seems to remember him.🤍

[itspileofgoodthings]

ALSO I am learning how to teach very introverted students, something my natural skillset as a teacher does not help me with.

[mathematical-apprentice]

Barou has always been a star boy, at first I thought it was just because of his killer goal scoring ability (clinical finishing) but now, now I've been schooled. Barou presented a masterclass in goal scoring.

Getting past Isagi easily with his technical skill, a heel lift while the poor MC could only stand by and watch.

A killer double nutmeg to get past Kuon and this other guy (it seems what he did to Kaiser and Isagi is actually an old habit)

Look at where the line is when he's taking this shot.

Here's a picture of the penalty area from Wikipedia for context. You can clearly see the line marking both the penalty area and the goal area in the frame of Barou's shot

Meaning, not only did he take the ball from his half (since Isagi ran forward after kickoff it's safe to assume he didn't stay in team Z's half), heel lift past Isagi, deliver a deadly accurate double nutmeg, and score, he scored from outside the box. Do you know how crazy that is?

Given, at this point the teams aren't very organised and were easily exploited by him, but it doesn't take away from the impressiveness of the goal.

@miyamiwu

[worstloki]

Thor tries to pick up the designated driver pilot role after feast parties and off-realm adventures following Loki’s death but it soon becomes apparent that the only decent pilot left on the team is Fandral and he’s insufferable if you drink excessively and don’t let him join

[hpdfag]

feel like im getting stabbed in the chest every time i think about him. is this even what love is supposed to feel like

[enjoyvoidblack]

our big post was getting long and it won't let me message so I thought I'd just come bother you here asldkfjsad I am like. so 1000% certain there is mention in the text that the initial purpose and efforts of Jonah and the Institute were to research the fears and prevent their many catastrophes, and that somewhere along the line he came to the conclusion that this wasn't viable, that the world and the fears simply didn't function in a way that was conducive to meaningfully stopping them from doing anything. which was how he settled into the position of 'well then I am going to use the instruments of power to save ME and build a ladder to free myself personally from their clutches forever' I def don't know when he started to turn from that, but i'll have to go back through the transcripts and find it again.

I do get that the narrative is written with Jon as the focal point, and that doesn't leave a lot of room for Elias to be sympathetic--he certainly doesn't make himself sympathetic TO Jon, or any of the Archives crew (beyond what I find to be an interesting amount of patience, understanding, and restraint he shows for them), but I still think like. Part of the beauty of Jonny's storytelling is that there is a kernel of completely understandable humanity to most everyone that's presented with any depth in the series, even the people we DON'T like. The "people here don't have excuses, they have causes" is again really excellent wording. There isn't really a lot of the usual karmic style reasoning or justice in this series; it isn't about Good People doing Good Things or Bad People doing Bad Things, it's just. People Doing Things, while under the influence of powers that are at once cosmic and beyond us, and inherently OF us.

adsfkjas this is getting long too I'm so sorry you activated a trap card here but idk. He absolutely is both manipulator and victim. He did all that shit, and all the while it's being done TO him, and he's walking this incredibly razor thin line between feeding his god/being empowered by it, and bc of it's nature knowing in intimate detail every nasty thing that awaits him should he fail (and I think being deathly afraid of it). That gif from Knives Out lmfao, compels me.

(apologies this probably isn't hugely coherent but there we are)

Thank you I am chewing on this ask violently. You Get It.

Unfortunate that tumblr killed your paragraph breaks, because I now can't find the section easily, but that thing about Jonny's character work in this series entirely consisting of aspects of "completely understandable humanity" is SO deeply how I feel about it. This is part of why I love horror of this kind so much. The horror being the fact that no one can really do anything to stop it opens up a space where the characters don't need to be presented along clear lines of good and evil, or even helping a cause or hurting it. It's a lot closer to how real people react in a natural disaster, if anything. There is love and selfishness and incredible acts of violence and cruelty and understandable failings and greed and fear, and pretty much all of it has a root that you can see, if you know enough about the people doing it and the circumstances to really feel where their mindset must be. I'd say Elias is functionally the closest thing TMA has to a narrative scapegoat, but that doesn't mean he is one. I almost feel like he's there as a pressure valve for the story, to be a villain if people need one to make sense of what's going on without having to constantly confront head-on the horror of the way the setting traps everyone in it. He can be made that kind of scapegoat, but only really by ignoring the parallels to Jon and the letters sent to him in older statements, and the way both show how the Fears drive the people who learn about them into more and more desperate straits.

It's kind of like that with all the older avatars. Simon Fairchild throws people off of stuff for a joke, because he's had more than 400 years of being steeped in the knowledge that humanity is both insignificant in the span of the universe, as well as utterly incapable of stopping the course of the Fears as they exert whatever influence they will by the force of sheer bulk. Peter Lukas never had a chance - he was born into this, isolation was his family and religion and paradoxically from childhood his only possible road to belonging. Adelard Dekker thought he was helping, as did Gertrude, even as they both fed the things that claimed them alongside those efforts. Nikola Orsinov was so far away from having an identity anymore that she couldn't go back if she wanted to, if she had even had enough left to want. Her world would have just been a home that was more like herself, and who hasn't wanted that? They're easier to vilify because their outlooks are harder to understand until the very end of the series, but looking back it's so clear that they were also just people once, and the writing never really lets you forget that.

If I said I'd tried to make all of these replies short, you probably wouldn't believe me. And Yet. I am not NORMAL about this show and the way Jonny writes people.

[apples-of-apples]

Aidbsisb just found a better reason for Gale to even go to High Lagaard past insane medical debt

[pkmoth]

having swap au thoughts. *slaps roof of claus* there's so much mental illness in this guy. im gonna blow up everyone in the room and then myself

[kariachi]

Yet more for that Argit pokemon series.

The best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry. Yes even if you get that one thing you swear is gonna help.

~~

Every pokemon center has a corkboard available for public use. Advertisements for jobs or events, requests for items, missing pokemon and person posters, all and more go up on the board for use by locals and those passing through. Argit checks them every evening before heading out, though there’s normally nothing worth the bother. Sometimes there’ll be a strong trainer looking for challengers, then they’ll consider the odds. They’re even starting to consider maybe sticking around for a battling competition if they see one advertised. Gimmighoul struggles to pull its weight, but salandit is strong, and they’ve managed a good seventy-percent win rate so far.

For the most part though it just people looking for pokemon, items, or skills they don’t have. That being the case, it hadn’t taken long for them to settle into a rhythm. Come downstairs, skim the board for anything with potential, and leave for the day. Exchange a few words with the nurse on duty when they got back, but otherwise ignore the other trainers. Why bother, when they didn’t intend to stick around or group up, and anything anyone had to offer would be up on the board with the rest of the nothing?

Probably it said something, about the quality of trainers around or about Argit themself, that it took until the sixth stop on their journey for anybody to properly catch their attention. A human, either an adult or almost, they aren’t great at telling, sat at one of the tables with a black and orange ghost-type hovering over their shoulder. On the table is a sandwich, a mug, a few papers, and a sign saying ‘Gourgeist To Good Home’.  Curiosity has their feet moving before they even realize, and their ear twitches as the human notices their approach as grins broadly.

“Hey there,” they say, standing and reaching over the table to extend a hand to shake, “I’m Jules, and this is pumpkaboo!” Argit takes the hand cautiously, tries to maintain a firm grip as they shake.

“Argit and salandit,” they say, hopping onto the chair Jules gestures too more to see over the table better than anything. Salandit hops onto their lap, then the table, it and pumpkaboo immediately setting to inspecting each other. “What’s up?”

“Pumpkaboo here is shaking to evolve and would love to travel.” Jules gives a depreciating little laugh, running a hand through their hair. “I just don’t have the space for a large gourgeist, don’t care for travel, so I was figuring a passing trainer would be it’s best bet.”

They slide one of the papers across the table. It’s a fact sheet about the pokemon in question, loaded with information a trainer might need to know. Ghost/grass type, large size, all shots, no pokerus. Hasty nature, good perseverance, knows confuse ray, disable, shadow sneak, and bullet seed. Ability is pickup.

Argit’s ear twitches again. What was that they’d said, way back when? That if gimmighoul couldn’t pull their weight maybe they could trade it for a pickup pokemon like they’d intended to catch. Without a thought their tail curls protectively around their bag. It isn’t pulling it’s weight, and despite the empty pokeball sitting in their bag they haven’t found a pickup pokemon.

Over two months it’s been though. That’s a long time. It left it’s chest to comfort them just weeks ago.

“What about you guys, what do you have going on?” Jolting slightly, Argit’s eyes flick up from the paper and their plodding thoughts. Jules is smiling at them, and an ear follows pumpkaboo as it floats over and begins inspecting Argit now. From the way salandit just watches it do so, they assume the pair get along well enough. With a deep breath to knock away the tightening in their chest, Argit slaps on a smile.

“Been travelling here and there, don’t really have a destination right now.” Sure there are no bad vibes so far, but they’re not telling anyone where they’re headed. “Haven’t been at it long but, I grew up around ghost types, got one myself already, know how to handle them.”

They also, again, aren’t sure they could afford another pokemon. They can do math, with three they’ll be paying more to keep their team fed and healthy each week than they do feeding themselves. Just to add another ghost to the team, bundle up on those weaknesses.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” Jules says, a hint of relief in their voice as they reach out and carefully scratch salandit’s head. Argit’s proud to say that as much of a skinny runt as they are, it looks in as good a condition as you can expect from a travelling battler. “If you’re interested, here’s the species I’d take in trade.”

They hand over another piece of paper, this one a simple list. It doesn’t, to Argit’s relief, have gimmighoul on it. Instead there’s almost a dozen other pokemon, each of which that Argit recognizes is, they’re pretty sure, relatively small when fully evolved. Well, at least Jules understands what they need from these things.

“Think I saw some of these on my way in,” they say as they go down the list, “can’t you just go out and catch one of ‘em yourself?” Jules laughs again, giving pumpkaboo a wistful look as it begins to join the perusing.

“If I could go out and catch my own pokemon,” they say, “I wouldn’t have gotten one I’d have to say goodbye to so soon.”

Argit hums a near understanding- saying goodbye isn’t easy- and refocuses on the papers in front of them. A grass type would help with salandit’s ground and water weaknesses, and that ground one would only get worse for the team if they ever got gimmighoul evolved. But those dark, ghost, and eventually fire weaknesses, and the extra care costs… Pickup would be helpful though, could easily double the amount of money they made. In that case pumpkaboo would more than pay for itself. And there’s that stupid- team cores made from fire, water, and grass types are a whole thing, they’re pretty sure…

Pumpkaboo draws their attention with a wispy mewl, floating in front of Argit’s face. Yellow eyes meet yellow eyes, and they can’t help but smile a little more honestly when it mewls again, drifting curiously from side to side. With a little huff of a laugh, Argit drops a hand on it’s head, warmth rising in their chest as it shoves it head deeper into their touch when they begin scratching.

“Give me a couple nights, and I’ll see what I can get ya.”

~~

The first thing Argit does, once arrangements have been made, is go actually get a room for their stay secured. The second thing is sit down at a free computer and look up what’s available in the area. One of them they don’t trust themselves to be able to catch, but a few of the others look promising. Then, they have to go buy three pokeballs. It’s an expense they don’t like, and they do have one still that they found along the road, but the odds of successfully catching something are better with more than one ball to throw.

Besides, if they’re considering what sort of core they want to build into their team? Then there’s no denying they’re going to be doing more battling going forward. They do get more money per battle than they do most days hocking stuff, and with a new, stronger pokemon on the team they can hopefully win more of them against opponents with, hopefully, more money. Plus, with a pickup user around Argit will, with any luck, be able to split time more between item hunting and battling. But, if they’re going to focus more on battles, then they’re going to eventually need to balance out their team better, and that’ll take pokeballs.

Like keeping the one that had been used on gimmighoul, they’re making a calculated investment.

Once all that is done and plans are in place, they take the rest of the night to acquaint themself with the town before turning in for the day.

Most of the pokemon on their narrowed list are easy enough to find, but it still takes them until the third night to find the right one. Despite all evidence, they are not their ma, and while they don’t know if there’s any specific rule about it, it does seem in like something she’d do- catch a pokemon for a trade without letting it know she wasn’t keeping it. Instead Argit spends two nights wandering up and down the paths outside of town, trying to figure out the best way to tell the pokemon what’s going on. Eventually they settle on just saying it at the start of every battle with the appropriate species.

That this has, on most occasions, led to the pokemon immediately turning and leaving, is more than a bit disheartening. More than a bit annoying as well. Still, they keep up, despite the voice in their head telling them to just catch one of the stupid things and be done with it. They are ten-years-old and desperate to be better than that. So wasted time it is. Over, and over, and over. Not even to mention the pokemon that salandit has just been too strong to weaken enough to catch without driving them off, or gimmighoul too weak to even bother without it’s backup.

Eventually, though…

“You wanna live in a small place in town?” The skwovet blinks, beady little eyes pulling away from salandit and towards Argit. “Looking for a pokemon for somebody in town, nice enough, but no travelling, not a lot of battling I don’t think, and their place is small.” It continues to stare, long enough that Argit wonders if it understands what they’re saying. Enough that salandit turns to them, itself now confused.

The skwovet turns it’s attention back to the fire-type and enters a battle stance.

“Poison gas,” Argit calls, heaving a sigh of relief as a cloud of purple fumes streaks from salandit’s mouth, engulfing the skwovet as it puffs up it’s fur. All the fur makes it difficult to see any telltale purple tinge, but there’s no sign of it eating a curing berry as the gas clears in the breeze. “Ember it!”

As the skwovet throws itself forward, it’s met with a face full of embers, colliding with salandit’s tail as it swings it. The force of the blow sends both pokemon toppling head over tail, scrambling against each other until their settled enough to break apart and face each other down once more. Skwovet cringes a little, nose crinkling, but it stands firmer than salandit does. Argit’s ears tilt back. This is one of the stronger ones then, and much as they love their pokemon, high defenses it does not have.

“Get evading,” they call, and the words have hardly left their muzzle before salandit is releasing another plume of poison gas at it’s feet. Already poisoned, the nose crinkling is an easy sign, the skwovet wastes no time in throwing itself into the cloud. A smirk slips onto Argit’s face as aggravated squeaks erupt from the gas, realizing salandit’s moved. The purple cloud works it’s way around the field, pokemon releasing gas as quickly as it can to shield it’s exact location. It’s in real trouble if the wind kicks up, or if skwovet gets lucky, but it’s fast and all it needs is time. The normal-type throws itself at where it thinks salandit is again. Misses again.

A third time. The skwovet is chittering more fiercely.

Fourth. It wavers, just slightly, as it eyes the moving cloud. There are brief flashes of salandit and Argit can tell it’s noticed them. Smart, for a skwovet, too.

Fifth

“Ember!”

If Argit was a better person, they would feel bad for the poor normal-type. An order timed right as it moved and suddenly it finds itself sailing just in front of it’s target, in prime place for a full blow to it’s side as salandit flings fire free of it’s tail. As it is, they have to bite back a snicker as it chatters away even more angrily than before, tumbling across the ground and barely managing to get back to it’s feet. By the time it does they have a pokeball in hand, missing the first throw (thankfully nobody but the pokemon are there to see it) and nailing the second. In a flash of red light, skwovet is inside.

It shakes twice before catching.

Salandit is breathing heavily when Argit scoops it into their arms, chittering praise and stroking down it’s back as they approach the ball. They heft it in their hand a moment, give it a weighing toss, before sticking it in their bag.

“Don’t know if Jules is looking for a security pokemon,” they say as their attention turns to checking the damages against their starter, “but I think it’ll do the job anyway.”

~~

“Oh, aren’t you a cutie-patootie!”

Jules, it turns out, likes the skwovet. Which is good news, because Argit isn’t getting them another one. They can’t afford to get them another one. Not unless they start eating skwovet. Dip into the emergency fund that is gimmighoul’s coins.

They may not survive that.

“I take it we got a trade then,” they only half ask. It only takes a moment for Skwovet to launch itself up onto Jules’s shoulder, pumpkaboo already in conversation with salandit.

“Yeah.” Jules laughs as they say it, scratching skwovet’s little head. “Ready when you are.”

The trade station is just on the other end of the pokemon center, a complex machine that swaps identifications and registry information and stuff. Argit had never seen one until they first entered a pokemon center (all the pokemon their ma gave out were, for all intents and purposes, their ma’s until death) and even now is a little bit wary of it. They’re careful, as the return skwovet to it’s ball, to make sure that their eye stays on it. As if if they look away salandit or gimmighoul’s will appear in it’s place. It’s a long moment they spend looking, and it gives them something to focus on besides the tearful goodbye between Jules and pumpkaboo, complete with hugging and teary eyes that leave something Argit doesn’t want to acknowledge lodged in their throat.

When they’re finally done and call the ghost-type back into it’s ball, they seem to have an easier time inputting their trainer id than Argit does. They hesitate less on putting skwovet’s ball in the machine though.

For some reason, Argit realizes, they expected something flashier out of the machine. It dings, it shuts, a depiction of a pokeball spinning and transforming into a great ball, an ultra ball, a premiere ball, a master ball, appears on the screen, sings again, and opens. The ball on their side is older, scratched and dinged like gimmighoul’s. While they’re still reaching for the ball, cautious, Jules has already grabbed one clean new one on their side, releasing skwovet to their own tears and the pokemon’s very obvious pleasure.

Argit takes a deep breath as they hit the button on pumpkaboo’s ball and hold it as a mass of white light emerges. As it grows and grows until it’s taller than they are. Not by much, but by enough to make them fidget. The mass solidifies, bursts in a scatter of light that has salandit hissing, leaving behind another orange and black pokemon. Tall, with long, limbs? Maybe? And a face etched into it’s belly. Their brain supplies ‘gourgeist’ just in time for the pokemon to cry out in joy and fling it’s limbs around them.

The world freezes for a moment, instinctual panic and the need to keep their quills flat warring with each other in the heartbeat before salandit is flaming and hissing displeasure. Gourgeist thankfully gets the message, slipping away to just float in circles around them with sorrowful little moans. The way their limbs hover just outside of touching distance, like they want to try again but aren’t certain, is warm is Argit’s gut.

They flash their new pokemon a smile, an honest one, reaching over and up to scratch around the curl? stem? at the top of it’s head.

“Welcome to the team.” To their side, salandit settles down as gourgeist croons, leaning hard into their touch. “Hope you don’t mind work, ‘cause we got a lot of it waiting.”

“Argit.” Jules is smiling when they look, bittersweet. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem.” It was a problem. They just hope it proves worth it in the long run.

“Still, take care of gourgeist for me? And visit sometime, maybe?” Argit nods, even though they know that if all goes to plan they’ll never see this place again. Never see this region again. Taking care of the pokemon, that at least they- They’ll make it work.

They will.

They have a plan.

“Next time we swing by, I’m sure it’ll lead me right to ya.”

~~

A little local battle competition with a cash prize goes up on the board about a week into Argit’s stay, and they decide to stick around, see how well they do. They’ve got a fully evolved pokemon now, after all, and the cash prize is very attractive. Any cash prize is attractive at this point.

First place sits tantalizingly out of their reach, but the entry was free and they do get a brass third place medal and seventy-five bucks.

It’s enough to serve as a proof of concept.

Argit still ends up breaking into a local store at the break of dawn, to make up the big difference now there’s three pokemon to feed. For the whole little ‘excursion’ they feel like they can’t breath, gritting their teeth against their ma’s smirk in their mind. As soon as they get back to the pokemon center they shove the money into gimmighoul’s chest, where nobody will look. The whole rest of their time in the area they feel like there’s a blazing target on their back, but no one suspects them (no one ever suspected them-) and all they need is to get to get to a bigger place, one with more trainers. One with ruins nearby, now they’ve counted out the coins and realized how fast they’re getting gimmighoul to evolution.

They can’t hock them, not when they’re halfway there.

There’s a new plan. Better plan.

This one’ll work.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[billpottsismygf]

I can confirm that the Wicked movie is just as good the third time round, possibly even better because I've seen so many interviews and behind the scenes videos by now. I kept marveling at the sets, the costumes, the choreography, the cinematography, the live vocals... All of it. And I was still taken off guard by its humour and the depth of its emotion.

The tragedy of No One Mourns the Wicked and the cathartic exhilaration of Defying Gravity sandwich a film that is truly unmatched. I still can't believe that, not only did they manage to pull off a movie adaptation of Wicked, but that it's one of the most astounding films I've ever seen.

[sajagz]

🌸 From One Mother’s Heart – Please Read 🌸

My name is Saja. I’m a wife, a mother, and a woman who once believed her story would be simple. I thought my days would be filled with watching my daughter grow — from her first smile to her first steps — surrounded by the small joys of everyday life.

But life had other plans.

War has returned to our home. Again. And once again, we find ourselves living under skies that never seem to rest.

There was a moment — a fragile, breathless moment — when the bombs paused and the world seemed to remember us. It gave us hope. We thought maybe, just maybe, we could start to rebuild. But now, we are back in the dark — hiding, holding on, praying.

I’m writing this not as someone seeking pity, but as a mother who has no other choice but to speak.

Imagine holding your baby in the middle of the night, not because she cried, but because the world outside roared too loud for either of you to sleep. Imagine whispering bedtime stories not to lull her into dreams, but to keep the fear from settling into her tiny bones.

This is my life.

This is my daughter’s life.

And even now — especially now — I believe in softness. I believe in kindness. Because when everything else is taken from you, hope becomes the most valuable thing you have.

Why I’m Reaching Out Our home has been damaged. Our lives changed. But through it all, my daughter wakes up every morning with a smile. She reaches for me with trust, with love, with faith that I will keep her safe.

That’s why I keep going.

I’ve launched a campaign to ask for help — not because it’s easy, but because silence is no longer an option. I am asking for support not just for me, but for my baby, and for the quiet strength of so many mothers like me who are fighting, every single day, to hold their families together.

How You Can Help: 🤍 Help us restore parts of our home so we can live with dignity 🤍 Support women and mothers in Gaza with access to care and resources 🤍 Keep the light of hope alive for a generation born in the shadows of war

💛 If you can, please support our journey here:

If you can’t give, please consider sharing. Your voice might be the reason someone else hears ours.

From My Heart to Yours Maybe our lives are worlds apart. Maybe you’ve never lived through war. But if you’ve ever held a child and wished the world could be better for them — then you understand more than you know.

I don’t want my daughter to grow up thinking the world turned away.

Please, if you’ve read this far — thank you. Thank you for seeing us. Thank you for caring. We are still here. Still hoping. Still holding on to every kind act like it’s a lifeline.

With love and endless gratitude

[edbanger7]

Tech is impossible and has at it's highest given me passing positive interactions and head pats from 40 year Olds who's personality is ego (a good thing!) and at worst destroyed my health/self worth/lust for future/gender identity/opinions that dont mirror whoever I'm talking to/ability to carry a conversation wo fear of networking repercussions/ability to emote in a normal way. I'm such a whipped doggish yesman I hate every moment of what I do and I fear knowing it will result in nothing anyway. Meanwhile despite the personality clash my film classes have been lovely.

[pavlikbuonarroti]

coming up with new lore for a game oc suuuuuucks cuz now you've gotta replay every game that character shows up in. what if that slightly different context changes everything....... 🙄