#neon memoriam

[escapedaudios]

quick question

does the neon serie come with the "you'll suffer about it for the rest of your life" free trial or did i pay for premium on accident?

because for someone who listen to it back in june i should not be sobbing and about to throw up now... again..

You can never escape the Neon series.

[grim-has-issues]

that one akira video, but it’s me resisting the urge to get some audio rp quote tattoted

[darlin-collins]

i remembered the 3 loves of life theory and excuse me as i go throw up

[blissful-clown]

its so over i just remembered abt the tapes oh i will rip my scalp off my head until u see the flesh under my skin and it bleeds up to my knees 😢😢😢"you can hear them in the future" IM HEARING THEM NEVERRRR

[usergif]

@usergif new year, new fonts: day 1 - layer styles ⤷ hen & karen wilson (x, x, x, x) [fonts used: memoriam pro, esthetique, super modern, neon bines, tw cen mt, taken by vultures, la obrige]

[irrealisms]

my dsmp fic recs masterpost

this one's long so i'm putting it under a cut! includes a lot of fandom favorites/ones you probably already know, but i tried to include some more niche ones as well. check the reblogs for more, i couldn't fit them all in one post without tumblr getting mad at me

Author recommendations (not my friends; go read everything they wrote):

Goldenrayofsunshine

shrugofgod

odaigahara

penink

hoorayy

Zannolin

the_g_m

chrysalizzm

Author recommendations (me and people I know):

sesquidpedalian @erstwhilesparrow

WheelCoveredInEyes @blocksgame

short_tandem_repeats

consumptive_sphinx @regicidal-optimism

monsterloot @aliveburs

cryptofhoney (korethekiller) @honeyblockm

nocturne_csharpm @qwilbur

75hearts (ME! YOU ARE HERE!)

Fangame recommendations:

Good Luck, Minutes Man! by @andhyssops : visual novel about NLM-era c!ranboo. has multiple endings, great art, soundtrack, characterization, etc.

Good Morning, Gogy by @andhyssops : visual novel about c!george. again, gorgeous art, great characterization. i almost don't want to say too much about this one because so much of it is a spoiler!

Doomsday Sim by @bwobgames : doomsday platformer, tommy is the player character, buggy but pretty.

Virtual Ghostbur by @bwobgames : ghostbur tamagotchi!

Character Pattern by @bwobgames : bullet hell with various mcyts (c and cc), tommy is the player character, stupid hard but very pretty

Tommygotchi by @bwobgames : tommy tamagotchi!

Silver Dollar by @honeyblockm : president schlatt is dead. murder mystery twine game

Fic recs (people I don't know well):

devil town by hoorayy : haven’t read this one but i’ve had it recommended too many times to not include. small town horror au. 100k

aftermath by sparxwrites : dream is recovering from the prison. tommy visits him. they have a conversation. neither torture apologist nor abuse apologist! 2k

what i love and what i've lost by Treis : dream & sapnap, dream recovery/redemption/post-prison. 20k

in memoriam by hoorayy : wilbur and sapnap have a conversation. 2k

little women by chrysalizzm : women on the dsmp character study. 1k

dissonance by shrugofgod : tubbo character study!!!!! one of the best tubbo fics imo. snowchester-era. 16k

six foot deep bottom line by shrugofgod : tubbo & q conversation, cookie outpost era. 2k

How to Sex Vol. 4-58 by Goldenrayofsunshine : epistolary fic, tommy pov, canon divergent from the disc finale (punz doesn’t arrive). probably my favorite fic in the fandom. 1k

Chicken Strategy by Goldenrayofsunshine : sam-centric, lots of q also, au where q set off the prison TNT. 20k

The Roman Archives by Goldenrayofsunshine : “Tubbo dies during the disc war finale and uses his time in purgatory to unlock all the secrets of the universe.” 4.5k

Make It Right by Goldenrayofsunshine : Captain Sparklez is tubbo’s dad, crashes the disc finale. my #1 clingyduo fluffy h/c Comfort Food. 2k

Raccooniverse (zombie crossover) series by Goldenrayofsunshine : crossover with the walking dead; doesn’t require any knowledge of the walking dead. tommy-centric, follows canon very approximately for the first two seasons and a bit beyond. 162k and still going, although you can just read the completed parts.

Neon Sunrise by Goldenrayofsunshine : wilbur & quackity, LN-era. 14k

draw up your sword (leave your days ashore) by Odaigahara : puffy joins the server by coming ashore at logstedshire, defends tommy. another comfort food fluffy h/c. 11k

snapshots by sparxwrites : schlatt/q relationship study. very good but mind the content warnings. 6k

the dead don’t dream by penink : what if dream killed tommy and then revived him again and then killed him and then revived him again— (crimeboys whump w a happy ending) 226k

Mafia AU by penink : mafia AU; based on Vibes rather than a specific time period but has Lots Content and Good Characterization. 219k and still going, although you can just read the completed parts.

Fairweather and Foxhole Friends by penink : manburg q & tubbo. 2k

Jubilee Line Satisfaction Survey by penink : wilbur centric, some crimeboys. wilbur in the afterlife! very very good. does fun things with the format--it's a uquiz, not an ao3 fic. another competitor for my favorite fanwork from this fandom.

call this world home by Sixteenthdays, stygiomedusa (grainjew) : another dream post-prison recovery/redemption; in this one, he’s metaphysically trapped in the arctic commune. 43k

l’esprit de l’escalier by eldritchIdeologist : revivebur oneshot. 3k

cause most of us are bitter over someone by honeyblock : niki & wilbur confrontation and reconciliation. (tommy’s there too.) 19k

orphan’s path (series) by aenor_llelo, Alderous, Anarchy-Schmanarchy (Murder_Schmurder), BattleBlaze, ConcoctionsFromHell, Falrisesi, fluxphage, izziel_galaxy, Otakuforlife19, Rocket999 : starts out as a phil&techno backstory. becomes a retelling of the entire server. massively multi-pov, very good characterization, very long. has many Takes i disagree with but also a lot of good stuff. get a text replacer “Lagos” -> “Dream”. 700K and still going, although you can just read the completed parts.

tune by small_lizard : karlnapity relationships study. 4k

applaud, my friends, the comedy is over! by small_lizard : oneshot focused on niki’s birthday party. <1k

it only gets much worse by hoorayy : another q & wilbur, LN-era. 2k

good reasons to freeze to death by hoorayy : tubbo-centric, post-s3 finale (mourning ranboo). 3k

pay it forward by comradeboyhalo : the l’sandburg fic. foolish centric; badlands post-egg healing arc in which they all move onto his house. very canon-typical tone; silly and crack-y but with genuine feeling. 5k

treatise on sin and vice by the_g_m : quackity and tommy and their relationship w religion (scriptfic). 7k

plate of primes by chrysalizzm : poem about tommy. <1k

hunger by Anonymous : probably the only E-rated fic i’m including. wilbur/quackity, LN-era, wilbur provokes quackity into hurting him by pretending to be dream, it’s . fic of all time. 11k

i'm not calling you a liar by Anonymous : jk i lied. also E-rated, wilbur/quackity, LN-era. by the same author as the previous rec, similarly dead dove. lives in my brain forever. 13k

the ckarl mpreg fic by the_g_m : karl doesn’t actually get pregnant in this one. they just want him to. karlnapity, script format, crack treated seriously. 2k

sink secluded by angeloncewas : niki and wilbur, pogtopia. <1k

best laid plans by zannolin : some gentle h/c for revivebur with ranboo and tommy. a bit of a comfort food but in a good way, at least for me. 5k

said the rabbit to the badger by zannolin : crimeboys talk about exile. inconsolable differences fixit. 3k

i can’t stand your taste in my mouth by orphan_account : a really intense but also very good pogtopia-era wilbur character/relationship study. 5k

where to find a silver lining (as the mercury keeps rising) by angelsdemonsducks : cwilbur eggpocalypse fic! 10k

the sea is rising by chrysalizzm : desolation avatar purpled. <1k but the series is longer

Blood Games by ghostdrinkssoda : q centric hurt-no-comfort that has some karlnapity but also engages with q as a bad person. 7k

where lies the strangling fruit by katsidhe : prison arc angst/whump. pretty heavy; mind the tags. sam & q & dream. 34k, unfinished

agatha by headlikeahole : wilbur's suicide note. collage/digital art. <1k

Tier X̅ by Pegasister60 : purpled's limbo is an empty bedwars map. 2k

one last lie for old times' sake by curseworm, VenetaPsi : wilbur tries to apologize to quackity before killing himself. quackity isn't having it. 18k

[warystares]

✘ CLOSED / ft. aranya natharuetai ( @gravefed ) at the olive branch martini bar

THE ALLURE OF THE CITY IS often lost on such solitary souls as orson lloyd, whose entire world takes place in best part behind closed doors ; none too often does the industrial cacophony of an overpopulated urban landscape ( nor the disorienting strobe of neon advertisements, man-made constellations smattering highrises against a hazy backdrop of smog ) lure the funeral director from beyond the familiarity of dimly-lit oak paneling and quarry tile. but every so often, he feels a compulsion to fraternize amongst the feral horde that populates new york ― perhaps engage in a conversation that isn't one-sided ― and, even more rarely, he might indulge in that inexplicable urge. tonight, it would appear, is one of said occasions and the olive branch is as decent a choice as any, he supposes ― the speakeasy tucked away in the cellar piques the interest of a man inclined toward the antiquated, the old-fashioned.

and far be it for orson to instigate a conversation of his own volition, even when he is craving the illusion of socialization, but there's a strikingly familiar silhouette in his periphery that tempts exception. two drinks are ordered ; the first a gibson for himself, and the second, a classic martini that he carries effortlessly, not a drop spilled. ( both glasses are filled to the rim, but you're unlikely to find a STEADIER set of hands in queens. ❝ ваше здоровье ( tr. to your health ), ❞ says orson as he suddenly appears before her, unannounced, and extends the drink in an offer. ❝ though clearly in far better condition than last i saw. ❞ the quip, nearly as dry as the beverage in hand, is paired with the ghost of a smirk, a vague upward twitch in an otherwise immobile visage ; an allusion to a rather UNUSUAL meeting.

( he still has the program from a funeral nearly a decade past ― he keeps one of EVERY program, actually, a private IN MEMORIAM for his own leisured reflection. hers, though, it remains separate. he'd not actually prepared her for DISPOSAL. )

❝ i see death was not too unkind to you. ❞

[memoriemmet]

Oh neon guy, I didn't expect to see you here.

-□Trainman who momentarily blipped into your space that one time and got immediately blipped out before i could ask what I was going to ask (still verrry annoyed about that happening)■

“Ah! Source! A pleasure to hear you again!”

“And I am Memoriam. Not ‘neon guy’.”

[tradingmaps]

Life Poem

In memoriam Stan Dragland, 1942–2022

Life is language, I wanted to say. Only problem:

it isn’t. Not language exactly, not language

as such. Not a particular language either, though

it has a lot to say—in fact, no end of things

to say—and it can listen through the cracks, as every

language needs to do.

Is it something like a language? A metaphor

for language? Or is language a metaphor for it?

Of course, of course. But more like many languages

than one. Like what we call a language

family, which is to say, a swarm—a swarm

in time, in which the living keep on dancing

with the dead because the dead keep flying,

close beside the not-yet-born.

If it were one—the one and only living language—

life wouldn’t be alive, or not for long. But swarms

are acrobats in time. They grow, shrink, dodge, feint,     

scatter, and reform. They have the ears and wings

to do so. Ears enough to constitute a halfway

disembodied mind.

Life heard us coming and will be here watching closely,

hungry, wary, wounded, wordless, like the snakes

of Fukushima and the lynxes of Chernobyl,

when we go—but will not speak of us or curse us

or have any name to give us when we’re gone.

Life has been married to language so long that you

might think the two could finish or begin each other’s

somersaults and sentences. They don’t. It only seems

as if they do. Why? Life is Being discovering

speech. Which is to say Being discovering being.

Is language Being discovering life? It might

be so. Which does not mean that speech

and being are the same.

Language is a sign of life, like swimming, and a form

of life, like eels—but it’s not a way of living.

It’s also not the life that anything lives—

not even ideas. Your life is not a language,

and your language isn’t life. Yet languages

of some kind—nucleic and behavioural,

for instance—are everywhere you listen, look, or rest

your empty hand among the living.

Unspokenness is not life either, but it too

can be a sign of life—just not where there’s no hope

of being spoken. Your speechlessness might mean you’ve

dodged or leapfrogged death and come, in the desert of words

or the sea of language, to an island

or oasis of not speaking.

The sun’s chance in the great celestial darkness

is the snowball’s chance in hell. But there it is.

And there, impossibly far off and getting farther,

are the hundred billion galaxies of others,

younger and older, larger and smaller.

Not forever, no, but yes, for the entire

past and future, and for now.

That sun—just one of many, but the only one

there is that is the sun—rains days and nights

on spitted rock and shattered water. Underneath

those fists and hammers, grammars sprout. They crawl

like moss across a lexicon of elements. Not

the celibate elements, no. Not radium,

plutonium, or helium, or neon, and not

platinum or gold. The speech palette

and dictionary of life and life-in-waiting

consists of six or ten essential syllables

and twenty-odd occasional inflections.

Some of what-is, that is, is the engine, and some

of what-is is along for the ride.

It’s said those elements are lifeless. Yet they speak,

and they are spoken. They have, it’s said, a lexicon

and grammar all their own, spun and woven

of electrons, protons, neutrons, which are spun

of something more invisible yet. And is that

everyone’s and everything’s first language? Every

language’s first language? Many languages,

like this one, are intangible. Their phonemes

and their morphemes may be slow—slow as bristlecones, slow

as sequoias—but aren’t they still as weightless

as the particles of light?

The sun, in any case, rains down. Atoms bond where they

can bond, and grammars sprout where they can sprout.

Acids, sugars, proteins, fats, and other

phrases, clauses, sentences congeal and then repeat,

repeat. They say what they can say—and sometimes

something more than that. Dancing knee to knee

and toe to toe with others, they carve shapes in space

and time. The shapes are stories. With their borrowed mouths,

the stories drink and feed and lick their wounds and do

their best to reproduce.

And so a language not yet spoken, not yet written,

not yet thought, is caught, or not, between

the carbon and the hydrogen, the phosphorus

and sulphur and the rest of the short list

of what we are and maybe everybody is. And there

it learns, or not, to write, to sing, to talk.

In time, the ones who carry it and feed it start,

or not, to hear what’s sung, what’s said, to read

what’s never more than partly written,

and to talk to what they hear, to say

Yes and, Yes but, and No, and more than that.

And more than that.                                                            

                                 But acrobat

or not, when you have drowned out, hollowed out,

and starved out every language you could find, your own

included, life and death are left with nothing more

to say to you—and no choice but to say it.

Softly at first, in no language at all.

So softly and so plainly and so clearly you

might almost try at first to say it could not,

could not possibly, be you that they are                                    

talking and not talking to.

[webbedphantom]

8/24 - In Memoriam

Today was always a tough day for him. Today was a date that was permanently engraved in his memory. He usually spent today alone, or with his Aunt, having a nice quiet breakfast before paying their respects at the shrine outside his bedroom.

But he wasn't at his aunt's place. He wasn't even in Kyoto. He was in Tokyo, the city he was born in. But he'd only returned because he was forced to, as part of his parole.

Still... there were perks to this.

For one thing, he'd met a lot of his good friends during this year, which was a huge shock to him, as he wasn't sure he'd ever trust anyone again after how all his old friends abandoned him.

For another, he had superpowers. He could go anywhere, at anytime he wanted. And there was one particular place he planned to go today.

He landed up on the roof of an old hotel. In its prime, it was a rather luxurious place, but these days, it was practically abandoned, being severely damaged in an earthquake a few years back. Some people had tried to repair it, others tried to have it torn down, but for one reason or another, those plans fell through. So here it sat, alone and forgotten.

He'd lived here once, what seemed like a lifetime ago. He often spent most of his days alone in their penthouse suite, as his parents were usually busy with work. But on the rare occasion they had a bit of free time, they would sit up here together, just looking out at the city while they talked about... whatever, really.

Which is why he was here. Today was the anniversary of their deaths.

He couldn't visit their graves, as much as he would like to. They weren't even in the country, they were somewhere in Brittan, near his mom's hometown. Not like it would matter anyway, because their bodies were never recovered. All they buried were empty coffins.

But... he didn't mind as much this year. Because now, he had this place. The place where they'd once lived. The last place he ever saw them.

He took a photo out of his coat, webbing it to the neon sign that sat on the roof's edge. A sign that hadn't been turned on in years. It was a photo of his parents, a rather old one taken at their wedding, one of the last he had left for... reasons he'd rather not remember right now.

"Hey Mom... Dad."

Instead, he took a seat in front of the photo, pulling a bento box out of his bag, before taking off his mask.

"I'm sorry I'm late. There was a mugger on my way here robbing some poor old lady, and that held me up a bit."

It was such a simple thing, but being here made him feel... connected with them. Which, he supposed made sense. This was where he got to see them most often. Rarely did they have time for trips or anything, something he remembered annoyed him a bit at the time... but he kind of understood now.

They were out trying to make the world a better place. His father through his cognitive studies, and his mother through caring for those in need a nearby hospital.

Now... he was doing the same thing. Just using a different method.

He started digging into his meal, having worked up an appetite in the trip over here. Though he did his best to keep up the conversation... one sided though it may be.

"I've been... I've been trying to do right by you guys. Use these gifts in the way you would want. I don't... know if I've been succeeding, especially lately."

This wasn't the first time he'd been up here since his arrival in Tokyo. He'd made a bit of a habit to come here every so often, especially when he had a tough choice ahead of him. But the events of the past month, despite having many a tough choice within, had caused him to avoid this place. He felt they'd be... disappointed with how he'd handled things.

"I was trying to protect my friends... I didn't want them to get hurt because of me... and I ended up hurting them anyway."

"But I'm trying to make up for it. I'm going to give this team thing a shot, for real this time. I know now that I can't do this on my own... no matter how much I wish I could."

That was another reason he'd avoided coming here. He wasn't sure he was meeting their expectations. Not to say they'd held him to such a high standard when they were alive. It was more so... living up to their legacy. Something he wasn't sure he was doing.

"I thought about bringing them here. I really want you to meet them. I think you'd like them. They're good people... better than I deserve honestly. But..."

He was their leader, a position he never wanted, but one they felt he suited. And the last thing you want from a leader is vulnerability, to see them at their worst. And no matter how much he could put on a brave face, he was at his worst here... especially today.

"... Anyways, I promise I'll bring them here sometime. Just... not right now."

He ate in silence for a while, mulling the idea over in his head. It's not like he didn't want them to see this. He hated keeping things from them. But this was... far too personal to reveal carelessly. Things were better now, sure. But... it just wasn't the right time.

"... I really miss you guys."

He wondered what they'd say to him. His mother was always the one to console him, to give him advice when he didn't know what to do. His father was a bit more... distant, as was traditionally the case in Japanese culture. He supported his passion for engineering, and would occasionally play games with him on his Dreamcast, but he wasn't particularly close with him. Still, he admired his father for his mission if nothing else. He always talked about how important his work was, how many lives he and Isshiki were working to improve.

Yet as hard as he tried, he couldn't really remember what they were like. It had been 11 years since they died, 11 years since he'd heard their voices, or seen their smiles. 11 years since he'd gotten to spend any time with them at all. They were even more busy than usual towards the end of their lives.

Over two-thirds of his life had gone by without them.

He felt a tear roll down his cheek.

"I-I'm sorry, I... I don't-"

It would be the first of many. That single stray thought hit him like a truck, and all of a sudden, the tears just wouldn't stop.

"I'm s-sorry, I know I shouldn't- just-"

He tried his best to wipe them away, as if that would somehow get it to stop... but it didn't.

He felt a sudden surge of energy leave his body, before a clawed hand gently pat him on the pat.

"It's okay, Aaron." Arsène said softly, attempting to console him however he could. "There's no one else here. Just let it out."

"They're here."

"... I know. But I do not believe they would judge you for it."

Would they? He really couldn't say for sure. He was so young when they passed, his memories of them were so faint now.

"They wouldn't." His Persona repeated. "It's okay to grieve, Aaron... Especially today."

He didn't feel like it was okay. He was supposed to be a hero. Steadfast and strong. Never showing weakness.

Still, he had to relent... It's not like he could stop the tears anyway.

He just buried his face in his hands, letting his tears fall... though still trying to keep himself from sobbing.

"Shouldn't... Shouldn't I be over this? It's been 11 years... Why doesn't it hurt any less?"

"Some wounds take longer to heal. Especially ones dealt at a young age. And... it's been a rough year for you."

It really had... sure, some good things had happened. But he was still arrested for something he didn't do, he still lost all of his old friends, he was taken away from the home he spent most of his life in, from the only family he really has left, he was still hated or feared by almost everyone in Tokyo, he was still wanted for murder (which he also didn't do), and he still spent day after day staring death in the face to save people who would still hate him regardless. So much pain, so much stress... it's a wonder he didn't reach this breaking point sooner.

He was glad he hadn't brought anyone else here today. He didn't want them to see him like this. To see him break beneath the weight of it all.

Instead it was just him and his other self, alone on the ruins of his old home.

Just him... and his ghosts.

[queer-whatchamacallit]

Because I am very much neurodivergent, and enjoy spreadsheets, I found some info on the IMDb ratings of all the criminal minds episodes

The overall average is 7.480

100 and entropy are tied for top at 9.1

Future perfect is the lowest at 6.6 and is also that episode directly before entropy

Lowest to highest of seasons goes: 14 at 7.444, 13 at 7.521, 15 at 7.593, 6 at 7.603, 10 at 7.606, 12 at 7.660, 1 at 7.783, 8 at 7.795, 11 at 7.797, 5 at 7.812, 2 at 7.951, 7 at 7.957, 9 at 7.971, 3 at 8.023, and 4 at 8.039

But if you count ‘to hell’ and ‘and back’ as the same episode, season 4 gets bumped down a space with an average of 7.972

Without entropy, season 11 would be ranked between seasons 12 and 1

Season 9 has never really felt like a top season to me, but it’s so high mostly because none of its episodes rate below 7.4

9’s top episode is demons at 8.6

Top 10 ish episodes are Penelope, zugzwang, and demons at 8.6, fisher king part 2, Lauren, mr scratch, and date night at 8.7, revelations and Mosley lane at 8.9, and entropy and 100 at 9.1

Bottom 10 ish episodes are demonology, beyond borders, neon terror, submerged, all you can eat, and mixed signals at 7.0, internal affairs at 6.9, a good husband at 6.8, awake at 6.7, and future perfect at 6.6

Season 3 ranges from 7.4 for identity and higher power to 8.5 for lo-fi

The lowest 5 ish in season 4 are cold comfort at 7.5, house on fire and roadkill at 7.4, catching out at 7.3, and demonology at 7.0

The lowest 5 ish of season 14 are Luke, flesh and blood, and night lights at 7.4, broken at 7.3, and innocence and sick and evil at 7.2

The top 5 ish of season 4 are memoriam, conflicted, amplification, to hell, and and back at 8.4, and mayhem and omnivore at 8.5

The top 5 ish of season 14 are starter home and truth or dare at 7.6, twenty seven at 7.7, chameleon at 8.2, and 300 and the tall man at 8.3

Episodes directed by Matthew gray gubler have an average rating of 8.175

Here’s the little graph I made for it:

You see that weirdly flat bit around the 200s? That’s season 9

See that huge spike a little bit before 250? That’s entropy

I am deeply obsessed with my useless little math projects

[escapedaudios]

I think I found Crow's post-mortem theme song. For Neon Memoriam.

I'm obsessed. It sounds so melancholy but so hopeful and adventurous at the same time. The buildup at 3:50 suits him so well. I think it'll match his journey of Swan Song has a theme too! It's very different though. I think they'll both fit neatly together into their story. One side being the story of an emotionally wounded man who never found lasting happiness in spite of his gentle heart, and the other being the story of a jaded woman who thought she'd seen it all learning just how much there is left to discover.

Oh and of course Acid Rain. She's actually named after her theme song. I originally intended for her to have more backstory in season one and ended up cutting the scene featuring her theme. It will finally appear in season three. Her present self's (1994) theme song is Acid Rain by Lorn.

Her past self's (1981) theme song is Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake Suite, Op 20.

Conflicted by her feelings for Crow, she defends the last living piece of him (Project Vengeance, seven years old by Neon Memoriam). She is still painfully in love with him, but she knows she is in love with the version of him that exists only in the past, before time passed in her absence and he changed. I kind of want to give her this tragic but powerful and epic presence.

[grim-has-issues]

i wish had theories on escaped but that man is so erratic, i never know what hes gonna do.

he took the phrase, “never let them know your next move” a little too seriously.

[darlin-collins]

crow be bagging baddie after baddie in literally every situation

[scolopendress-tag]

Arcana government assigned littlest pet shops

These were not hand picked, these are birthday based. It is fate. Sorry.

Asra

LPS 613

This actually works. It's got an Asra vibe to it, undoubtedly. Plus, if I'm not mistaken the body color does appear to be neon seafoam, or awfully close! And bonus points for reptile. He would cherish this fucking thing. 5/5

Nadia

LPS 708

This one I can also see! Maybe not perfect, but it gives off elegance, and the eyes remind me of her hair color. The pink also fits. Overall not bad! If you gave her this she would probably be incredibly confused, though. 4/5

Julian

LPS 312

This is literally just Brundle. Doesn't exude major Julian vibes besides that. But the fact that it is literally Brundle works. He keeps it in memoriam. Rest in pease, Brundle. 3/5

Portia

LPS 207

Eh. Not the most perfect fit but retains some Portia elements. Maybe if the white and orange swapped spots it would work better. Fluffy cat and blue eyes and the fact that there even IS orange saves this from being too far gone though. She would still love it. 2/5

Muriel

LPS 910

Okay. Let's look at this. Well. It's a forest creature! And it's fluffy. That's all I can think of. Does not really fit his vibes. However, even if he doesn't say so, he would probably love having this thing. Asra probably gave it to him, and he regards it fondly. For the image of Muriel giving this squirrel a smile while holding it in his big hands, 10/5

Lucio

LPS 113

What the fuck.

-3/5

(He'll still insist it's the best)

[thedahliafiles]

nostalgia is a liar

sunday afternoons are for last minute decisions.they're quiet, until they're not.

666 Words | TW: Introspection, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Angst/No Comfort, Reliving Trauma

Sunday afternoons were quiet. They were a quick reset before the beginning of the school week. Lovely had gone out just before the sunset, getting some last minute grocery shopping done before they’d return to finish their last minute study work.

Sunday afternoons were for last minute decisions.

Vincent’s hands were damp and warm from the soapy dish water. There were a lot of things he’d had to relearn after the past 21 years, but housework was not one of them. The house he shared with Lovely was one of the nicest places he’d lived. Nice. Not familiar, not until recently at least.

Lovely moving in had changed the way that Vincent viewed the place he stayed, they weren’t just roommates, nor was this building just a house. It was the place they called home, together. Finally.

Staring at the load of dishes to be done, Vincent decided he couldn’t wait, deciding to get a glass of water to cut the heat before he’d start on standing over the hot sink for upwards of a half hour at least.

If there’s even a clean damn cup in this house.

Making his way over to the cabinet, he checked his phone, a fond smile spreading across his face as he saw the text from Lovely, letting him know they were on their way home -- and that they’d be bringing home dinner to avoid even more cleaning.

God he was so in love with them.

Slipping his phone into his back pocket once more, he opened the cabinet door, sighing at the almost bare shelf where their cups and mugs usually rested. Shifting a few smaller mugs out of the way to find a larger cup, his hand brushed against cool metal.

He froze.

A neon green sticker.

Cold, stainless steel metal.

Just as bright as the day he bought it.

Sunday afternoons were for last minute decisions.

Like buying a tumbler for the scariest ride at the roller coaster after you convinced yourself to ride it.

That’s the funny thing about nostalgia. It lies to you. It shows you things as faded moments, through rose colored lenses and blurry, faded polaroid pictures. It only shows you what you want to remember, what you want to convince yourself of what happened. It tells you that in a few years, all the shitty things that happened to you were just your fleeting emotions, that everything was fine and nothing hurt.

Nostalgia’s kind of a bitch.

Vincent knew that, staring at the pristine Surge tumbler, hardly aged, never used.

Never seen a day in the sun.

It’s almost funny, in a way that’s not funny. Like reading a pun in a newspaper article about a catastrophe. Like reading the front page and realizing they made you a laughing stock in memoriam. Like reading your obituary and finding out that they’re going to profit off of this.

Nostalgia lies to Vincent, tries to tell him that he thought he got rid of it. That he’d gotten rid of every physical reminder of that day. The T-shirt, the picture booth reel.

That tumbler.

He almost wanted to laugh. Here it was, in his hands, a reminder of that day, in the same condition as he was.

It never saw a day of sunlight ever since that day.

The green was fucking ugly, but Vincent found himself smiling at it. Why of all things, of all days, was today the day to find it. How had they never seen it?

Vincent put the tumbler back, right where it was, and where it would stay. He’d finish the dishes.

He was also going to vehemently ignore the tremor in his very core, the tears lining his eyes.

One last ride, right?

--

That’s how Lovely found him, leaned against the doors to the sink cabinet, holding a cup they’d never seen before.

Silent tears rolled down his cheeks as he traced the sticker, the letters, the winding rails of the roller coaster.

“Vince?”

“Nostalgia sucks.”