#not one thing can be predicted

[kingofmyborrowedheart]

Begging swifties to understand that Taylor didn’t write reputation and Lover with the knowledge of how the relationship was going to end and that trying to “excavate” those albums for evidence to prove a specific theory as to why it ended is not how they should be viewed. Taylor wrote those songs feeling a very specific way because that’s what she was experiencing and she is now reflecting on them with hindsight and relates to them differently than when she first created them. These conflicting emotions can exist; how she views it now doesn’t diminish how she felt about it when she first released it.

[mishapen-dear]

still so gucking delighted by how happy dapper was when they heard about all of bad’s killing. mad scientist baby loves loves loves to see his dad covered in other people’s blood. I can’t wait to see the other eggs’ reacts to what their parents did in purgatory. Will Richas be excited to hear all the tales of murder? Will Pomme be horrified? Is Chayanne gonna be delighted to hear about his dad and his mighty feat of saving tubbo? What about Leo? Ramon? Tallulah? their parents all went thru so much, and did so much. What will they think about it? (And will their parents even tell them?)

[daily-hanamura]

[wrencatte]

I'm screaming and wailing. The Endbringers in Worm are legit my FAVORITE depiction of unfathomably eldritch but also a physical force of nature beyond proper comprehension. I like them so much and the superhero premise makes it even better because you have these super powerful beings and even they're not enough! They can slow it down, beat it back, but even working together isn't enough to kill them. And when you think you've figured it out. Think you've learned their moves and their goals and their strategy. HA. Jokes on you, they've been holding back.

[rottmnt-residuum]

Just out of curiosity, has anyone so far made a theory that guessed anything so far?

I'm really trying to connect dots here and have no idea what could happen next lol

There was one person that predicted almost all the information I gave in the first arc. Indigo, I'm pretty sure, but I haven't heard from them since then...

[tanadrin]

Rarely do we predict the end of the world two or three generations hence; it’s always “this generation will not pass away before all these things have come to pass.” And I’m sure there are a lot of reasons for this—if you’re running a genuine doomsday cult, for instance, you don’t want to put the doomsday too far off. And I *think* part of the driving force there is that it’s really hard for us to imagine that the world will continue once we are gone, more or less intact. Like, it’s really weird to look at small children and know that, if everything goes right, they will see and do and think things you will never share in. That your life before they came along will be nothing more than the thinly imagined world beyond the borders of photographs that your parents’ or grandparents’ was before you. That however important and accomplished you are, the world will continue to spin when you have died.

That’s a hard fact to get your head around! And it’s sort of the inverse of the way we ofte treat our childhood as cosmogonic, as the default state against which all else rises and falls. We are prone to a solipsism where the bounds of the word are the bounds of our lives. That’s not a novel idea, but it does make me very skeptical of any eschatology positive or negative. The world has, so far, an extremely good track record of zero transformative catastrophes or eucatastrophes that take place with the sound of trumpets in the twinkling of an eye. Sure, it has lots of moments of *change.* Whole ages of them—dramatic sometimes, but always continuous. Differentiable, you might say, in that however rapidly the status quo is in flux you can see there is one, and how we got here from a previous state.

And not only do doomsayers have a pretty lousy track record, they frequently exhibit telltale signs that their doomsaying is based in something other than careful deduction—like Paul Ehrlich not only missing the Green Revolution (a forgivable error perhaps) but digging in even further the more reality continued to drift from his apocalyptic forecasts. One cannot help but think of Harold Camping, continually reissuing his predictions for the Second Coming. But also—peak oil was wrong; climate change has been bad but looks like it will not be “the end of industrial civilization” bad; a NATO/Warsaw Pact nuclear war never came to pass, (although arguably that’s the one that was in a lot of ways the most rational, and where we got luckiest). The non-doomsday-prophet types look at these fortunate turns and go “thank God that never happened!” But some people seem truly disappointed—after all, if the word will outlast you, how special can you or your era really be?

[ninawolv3rina]

Kiss, you weirdos! Stop staring at each other like that!!

OCs: Asa (they/them), Kennet (he/him)

[undertalethingems]

Sans is the sort of person who would sit there for 5 minutes contemplating whether or not to go get someone and by the time he makes a decision the whole conundrum has already resolved itself and he plays it off like he knew everything was going to turn out fine. Even if he was there, the most he would do is get toriel, or something.

Yeeepp, it seems to me like people tend to drastically overestimate how willing sans is to get involved in situations that aren't goofy hijinks. He's not a bad guy, but he generally lacks either the spoons or the courage to involve himself in conflict. This should be an obvious trait considering he doesn't do anything to stop you on non-pacifist neutral runs, even when you kill papyrus. And yet, he somehow gets characterized as being overprotective...

He generally finds lower-key ways to help (like helping you escape undyne by doing literally nothing), or like you said, waits for the situation to resolve itself if other, more proactive characters are around.

so yeah, while he cares about frisk, he's not going to feel like it's his place, one way or another, to leap to their defense...

[sergle]

Now I’m curious, what breeds are on your list?

✨Golden Retrievers✨ Pomeranians Samoyeds Rottweilers Irish red setters German Shepherd (I like the black ones) Rough Collies and Shelties Great Pyrenees Bernese Mountain Dogs Cocker Spaniels St. Bernards Borzois and probably more that I forgot to list!! These are all dogs that I Especially want to cry when I see them, and that I could see myself loving / being able to meet the particular needs of their breed. I've expanded my Range a little in the two years since I brought Hugo home, since he's taught me a lot about dogs, and I could potentially take care of a baby with very different needs from the ones that he had. I'm still by no means a dog expert but. Yanno. You learn small things over time! In the end, when I was searching for a dog a few years ago, I had a few qualifications I didn't want to budge on. I needed a dog that's trainable, but not stubborn, a dog that's gentle and considerate with my cats and my niblings, a dog that's not too reactive, a dog with soft fur, and a dog that is affectionate. So... Hugo is all of those things!!! He picks up skills quickly and listens (I gotta work on his Recall though), he takes extreme care around the cats and is so careful that he can be left alone with kittens and baby chicks, so being sat on / bothered / tugged on by small kids isn't even a challenge. He has never growled at anyone or anything in Irritation in his life. He's never bared his teeth. He doesn't bark at strangers or at odd noises, he doesn't snap as a response to being surprised. He's extremely pillowy soft, and his fur doesn't irritate my skin or pierce my clothes. He is extremely, extremely sweet and loving, frankly to the point that he would easily fall in love with a new owner if he was kidnapped lmao. You can maybe see why I like goldens so much. I got REALLY close to adopting a Pomeranian, which I'll continue to Think About, basically forever... but as someone with a predisposition for migraines, I don't want to set the dog up for failure if I'm not ready to hear bark bark bark bark bark bark bark all day. That's the ONLY downside. Maybe I invest in some noise cancelling headphones? They're beautiful dogs though, I love an animal that looks like a little rat. You ever see one of them after a bath? My god.

[gibbearish]

ive seen ppl saying smth in the wider plagiarism discussion to the tune of "don't worry anxious people, it's impossible to accidentally plagiarize!" and i feel like that lacks a lot of nuance that anxious brains like mine latch on to to just dismiss the possibility outright, as well as a lack of life experiences fueling it.

it is possible to "accidentally plagiarize" in that you can read something, forget about it, then a while later have your brain spit the ideas back out without telling where it got them. so of course you just assume they're yours and share them as such, because That's Where Most Of The Thoughts In Your Head Come From! and it both is and isn't plagiarism, you weren't /intending/ to pass someone's else's work off as your own, i'd even say in a way you were just as much a victim of misinformation as your audience. but you very much so did still resuse the work of someone else, even if you don't remember it.

but in my experience, this kind of thing also happens to a lot of people. you tell a friend a joke then wake up in a cold sweat two days later realizing the reason they didnt laugh was because they'd told you that joke a month ago. you reply to a friend's text and after sending you realized you ended it with the same exact phrase as theirs. you're writing edgy poetry and write a line you really like only to see it in a text post two days later saying youve already liked the post. like, it happens. so if it DOES happens and you're just honest and explain, people will understand. something like "oh shit im sorry, i totally have read that, i mustve forgotten and only remembered bits and pieces and just thought they were mine. thank you for letting me know and for the source" works wonders.

people know you can forget things. people won't automatically doubt your apology just because all true plagiarists say it was accidental. HOPEFULLY people can understand the nuance between a genuine remorseful explanation, and a thief who hoped no one would find out scrambling for excuses for why they did it. and those who can't, that's a them problem, not a you problem, you've taken responsibility for your actions as much as you can. they think the answer is simple, that the only thing stopping you from saying "yes i did it on purpose, i knew the whole time and deliberately copied them" is shame/inability to admit to your actions. but sometimes things AREN'T that simple, so imo ppl who are shitty to you for not following the script they made up for you in their head should be ignored

[project-sekai-facts]

i wonder what the theme for the gacha set 3rd anniversary would be? Because the 1st anniversary theme was 'light' and the 2nd anniversary theme was 'dark' so like, what's after that?

i've been wondering this as well. since they've done half (technically 9/20) of the cast as either white lily or black lily, i was wondering if they'd keep that up with the other half. like do white lily again this year and black lily again next year. however i'm not sure anymore since the third anniversary event might be themed differently due to the context of moving up a year at school (and MMJ moving course). however if that stuff ends up getting covered in early-mid september where there are no unit events scheduled, i reckon the lily theming is still possible.

[herequeerexitentialfear]

i wanna die with you, wendy, on the streets tonight, in an everlasting kiss

Celia/Elena, and the moments around the moment that changed their whole lives. for ockiss<3 even if it takes over a thousand words to get there

In the aftermath of conflict, Celia and her friends, feeling down and hollow, collect their 'reward' for coming out on top- a meeting with Capo Polpo.

But that's for their new leader to worry about, Celia's thoughts are all wrapped up in Elena, as they escort their leader to the meeting, and afterwards the Capos strange gift leads to her getting her selfish wish and kissing Elena, but only because she doesn't know if they will survive the mysterious blow dealt to both of them.

Their friends Tesoro and Conficcare find both of them wrapped in a bloody embrace, just streets from their home, and as Celia wakes, she is reminded of the love and joy her life holds, despite the hollowness she feels.

posted on ao3 as well as its just over 2k words. warning for minor character death, graphic depictions of violence, and a near death experience.

-

Their refuge of peace was fraught with anxiety, exhaustion in every line of the bodies lying on various surfaces. 

Part of the anxiety was undeniably the fact that Sovrano was intruding on their space, laying claim to what had always been their place- but he was good at that, taking over what was theirs with an unspoken promise of violence.

Victory had never felt so bitter-sweet, aching bodies and eyes staring into the recent past, even the satisfaction of winning was hollow. 

Yet Sovrano was waiting for something, anticipating action- despite the bandages and stitches, and there had been so much blood, and someone else had managed to knife him, in that last desperate attempt, but missed killing him by a few centimetres.

Celia didn't know if she was glad it missed or not. She was already the de facto leader of their little sub-group, and despite the leers, she would be the one to step up when Sovrano was taken out of the game- Hell she had stepped up as he was taken care of in that clinic.

Mama, look at your darling daughter now, so bloody and violent, a leader of men. Do you weep, up in heaven, your spirit looking down at she who once was your darling child, hands now soaked in blood? 

By all rights, Elena should be the next in line, but this scholarship- well, she's been slowly retreating from them, preferring to study and linger in what passed for a studio in school, than hang out in parks and bars and wherever they chose to linger at night, drifting through the stone jungle they called home.

A dial tone interrupted her thoughts, distracting her from the dawning fear and hollow heart that were now so common when she thought about Elena, and their future.

Sovrano jumped to get it, fear in his eyes, trying to collect himself as he hobbled to the landline.

“Signor?”

Blue, green, brown and finally her own unsettling gold eyes all stared at him and the receiver he held to his ear. The lingering headache ringing in her head mangled the words he replied, as her mind slogged to try and think who it could be, who he would speak to with that level of respect.

Still, despite her struggle, his last words caused a burst of clarity to cut through the lingering pain. But in turn, that space was soon filled by fear.

“It would be my honour to meet with Capo Polpo”

The click of plastic on plastic felt like a gunshot echoing through the room, the roar inside Celia's head sounding eerily reminiscent of engines.

“Muro, Spina. You're with me, given how you both came out the best off.”

Everyone can hear the aborted statement about people hesitating to hit a woman, or some lewd joke about tits distracting the Capo. Sovrano may see himself as a man's man, but even he has to alter his language now the dust has settled and those ‘bitches’ are what got them standing above the rest.

The wall and the thorn. Celia was growing to fit her new name, and Elena was always sharp, but these past few weeks made her edge razor thin, and even deadlier. The masculine noun felt right on her, although it felt strange to be the wall, instead of being told she was stubbornly smashing her head against one. Elena loved telling her that, or mocking her name by calling her Cecità, blind. 

Elena has already got up, donning her leather jacket and checking the placement of her knives, all in the time Celia was musing on names. She stood up to do the same, patting down her trench coat and checking the internal sheaths were all easy to access. Both their new jackets having been recently repurposed and retrofitted to be walking armories, after their beloved previous ones took hit after hit until they were nothing but strips of leather and cloth. She mourned their well loved clothes, the new ones still being broken in and altered to suit them both.

Confident she wouldn't slice open her coat- or herself- unsheathing a knife, she ventured for the stairs, towards her steel toe capped boots, and the mysterious meeting with the capo.

-

The concrete walls of the gilded cage the Capo holds court from are cool to lean on, the two armed youths having not even entertained the possibility of being taken through, even with all the bribes that line the guards pockets. Celia doesn't mind, hating the unnecessarily complicated mind games of the older made men, preferring the clarity of necessity that colours the fights and battles of the street gangs. 

She doesn't mind letting the cold seep into her through her coat, Elena right next to her and gazing out at the city skyline, doesn't mind it at all.

And if her eyes linger on the person beside her, on the folds of leather, on the hands still splattered with paint, on her eyes and face and lips, then that's her secret. Elena too distracted to notice her lingering gaze, hands twitching like she wants to reach for a paint brush, as her eyes stare into the distance, mind whirring with composition and colour. 

She's an artist to the bone, got creation on her soul, and one day, Celia prays, Elena will have the time and money to put to canvas every painting she ever dreamed of making, even the ones she's daydreaming of now, when it's just half formed thoughts to distract herself while waiting.

-

Sovrano walked out- and they fell in behind him- cupping a lighter of all things. They walked in silence, meandering back towards their home streets, his face screwed up in concentration, having said nothing other than that he cannot let the lighter go out, and there are good things in store for them.

Almost home, they turned into a plaza, but Sovranos hands were getting lazy, and the wind whistling through an alleyway took them off guard, and as the flickering light died out, fear and panic rose on his face, as he looked around then scrambled to re-light it.

Celia shook her head at the strange ritual, turning away from checking in on him due to his sudden movements, when the smack of flesh on stone altered her to his fall-

Blood, again, bright red soaking flagstones instead of grass, but this time, there is no coming back for their leader. 

Bullet? But the blood- like a stab, not gunshot. No weapon in sight, no perpetrator- sniper?

Cold, a prick at her back, just between her shoulder blades, then white hot pain, her brain screaming, and all she can think about is Elena. Elena who has a chance at a future, who has a chance to get her and her family off of these bloodsoaked streets, and before she knows it, her muscles move, instinct propelling her, knocking Elena to the ground, hand cradling the back of her neck to lessen the fall, arm clutching hers, too tight, but the pain, bright and unyielding, blinds her.

Her nose hits something soft, a cheek and her lips are about to- and if shes at the angle she thinks shes at- our mother in heaven let her be selfish just this once- and both their lips are dry and cracked- and let her have this, let this be her last moments, kissing the person she loves as she cradles her, lying on blood splattered flagstones, warm underneath them both from the hot sun.

Let her be selfish again, and open her eyes, let her memorise Elena's face, again, let it be what she sees-

The warmth under them both is wet and the hole through her extends to her love, and she feels her body slipping out from under her, panic overrides the pain as she sees the hole placed just between Elena's collar bones- and no she didn't- no- not her. Something in her throat building up, a scream, but all that comes out is blood, as flickering darkness descends, and her body gives out from under her, and for a split second she swears she can see herself, blood streaming down her back, both their lips stained, just like the stone below, wrapped in a pathetic embrace.

-

She wakes up like that, sprawled on the stone, blood turned brown and flaking at the touch. Something brushes against her shoulder blades, A freckled hand reaches towards her, and there's a split second where she hunches over Elena further, before she connects the hand to Tesoro, and relaxes, turning her face towards him, eyes blinking in the dim evening light.

Another hand, slimmer and presumably the source of the touch that woke her, cups her head, and Tesoro pushes on her shoulder, rolls her over onto her back, leaving Elena unprotected. 

Cool fingers massage her temples, and coax her eyes into focusing on the blue ones staring into hers, above them, brows knitted in concentration. One hand reaches towards the cool skin on her chest, where the frayed and torn edges of the hole in her shirt brush against her skin, outlining the exposed flesh. A gasp she later realises is her own sounds out as fingertips brush against scar tissue, where only hours ago, there was a gaping wound.

Clumsy movements drag her arm towards Conficcares, pulling on it it like a petulant child, the pushing it towards Elena, trying to convey what her throat won't let her, to help Elena over her, help the one of them with a future, the one who shouldn't be lying wounded on these bloodsoaked streets. the one who has a chance to escape.

Tesoro breaks the silence, from where he is leaning over Elena, with confused murmuring to Conficcare, “It's the same, these scars are fresh, but-” he shakes his head in frustration- “they didn't have these when the went out-” his head turns to Conficcare, eyes weighing on him, silently asking the groups medic if these were past wounds, hidden from the rest of them.

He shakes his head solemnly in answer, “There should be no way for them to have healed in a few hours.”

Celia tries to open her mouth, but no words come out, the poor things getting stuck on the raw edges of her throat. She just gapes like an air-drowning fish, before squeezing her eyes shut at the effort.

Pity shines in green and blue eyes, and behind the shield of her eyelids, it weighs heavy on her chest. The silence weighs heavier, she can almost hear the exchange between the two, concern and questions flying over her head. She can almost hear Tesoro constructing the perfect comforting words, weaving them together, reassurances and certainty and love and-

-and Conficcare beats him to the bullet and breaks the silence.

“You really must be out of it, if you're aren't threatening comical acts of violence upon me for feeling up your chest,” 

It sounds forced, even to her, and Tesoro sighs, ready to reprimand their ill-tongued friend, when finally her throat lets something out, and her eyes open in shock as giggles bubble out of her mouth. 

Conficcare grins at her, and Tesoros head is in his hands as he gives into laughter too-

A voice next to her bites out, “Idiota” any malice blunted by the fondness that underlies every syllable.

And Celia turn her head towards her sun and grins too, wide and full of love, giggles turning to cackles, Tesoros shoulders shaking alongside his head, as he lowers his arms and reveals his own grin, and finally Elena cracks to, rolling her eyes as the twitch at the corner of her mouth turns into a smile, lovingly frustrated, but then her eyes glint maliciously and she opens her mouth again-

“Please, you kiss worse when you are trying to be romantic than Celia over here did when she was actively bleeding out.”

The smug look is wiped off Conficcares face as he processes what Elena just said, and Celia is certain what blood remains in her is all in her cheeks and she burns with embarrassment.

Conficcare finds his words quickly, turning his kicked dog eyes onto Tesoro and pleading “I'm a good kisser- aren't I, Tesoro?”

Tesoro joins her and Elena on the floor as he gasps for breath, Conficcare pouting at him, at them all, as if to protest against the mockery he was suffering.

Celia is warm now, laughter and love filling her back up, anchoring her again to this world, fondness for life soaking back into her bones. She loves these idiotas, every fucking one of them.

“Love you too, idiota, but watch who your calling stupid, my stubborn Muro”

Ignore that, Celia is crawling under the nearest rock and dying. 

…She's still grinning though.

And not even the pressing weight of consequences, not the cooling corpse of someone she's known since she was eleven, nor the mysteries of how exactly they were hurt and healed can douse the warmth in her heart.

[cerealmonster15]

got dam

all according to plan indeed huh

[uncanny-tranny]

Maybe the weirdest good that has come out of my aromanticism is that I just... appreciate how alone I am. I've learned to really evaluate how I view my time and how I spend it with myself, and it has enabled me to slowly try more and more things out of a desire to enjoy my own company and myself even more <3

[allonzy]

OH AND WHEN WE GET A "I'M THE ONLY ONE ACTING NORMAL HERE, I'M THE ONLY ONE THAT CARES ABOUT WILL" PARALLEL IN SEASON 5 FROM MIKE THEN WHAT. WHAT THEN.