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#what's he gonna do
pinatadulce · 3 months
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Him
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What's he listening to? (Wrong answers only /hj)
Yes ik I should be working on improving my art skills and instead I'm here showing off my little peanut
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transingthoseformers · 2 months
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Have you been reading the Megatron gets a baby by artificial insemination and it looks like Optimus fic? It's painfully cute.
I've read a little bit into it before getting distracted so far, but it's fucking funny how Megatron is just like. "Goddamn it, I see the logic here but what's the luck of that?????"
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n0brainjustvibes · 5 months
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@thesternest's blorboposting be like: [song about control] this is a Magrias song. [song about resisting control] this is an Ashelyn song. [photograph of a giant nuclear bomb blowing up a planet] orev
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larissa-the-scribe · 1 month
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Terrarium Lights, Pt. 2.7
End of part 2! Last time on Terrarium Lights: the ghost got a bit of... self revelation. He also goes by Samuel now.
The weekend came and went. Gail went to church, enjoyed fellowship over a shared luncheon, and accosted Pastor Jeremiah for help in prayer. He listened to her story about Samuel gravely, and didn't speak a word of doubt—but his broad, dark forehead was creased, and his rich voice rang uncertain as he clarified that she wanted him to pray for the ghost of a college-age lad who had been living in her kitchen.
"I'll be sure to give you more context and information once I have it," Gail said, "but right now the both of us know precious little, and I want to talk to my husband once he gets back. The ghost is going by the name Samuel for the time being."
That didn't appear to settle any of his confusion. She asked for him to pray for her to have wisdom as well; having secured his promise on both accounts, she drifted off to help clean up the kitchen, chuckling a bit to herself. She promised herself she would not foster that mischievous attitude too far.
The ghost in question was doing both better and worse than before. Overall, he acted less disturbed by his lack of knowledge, but he frequently grew distraught and anxious over his position. The realization that he might well be dead had begun to settle in his mind, and it had not done so easily.
It had, at first. It made sense. Samuel had noticed that he was not in a state of normal living, at least—but the jump from that to not being alive at all, and having no idea who he was or had been because he no longer existed properly, was a bit farther than he was prepared for.
It hadn’t seemed real, or possible, or comprehensible. But it was his reality, so he had to comprehend it, somehow.
Gail tried to help as best she could; but, despite having had her share of existential drama in figuring out herself and her life’s path, none of that was quite the same as realizing you were a ghost. And this ghost in particular was far more prone to angst than she had been (or at least, than she could remember having been). Mostly all she could do was be there, talk to him, and go about her normal life in an attempt to provide some form of comfort, stability, as he alternated between calm and fluster.
Considering his proneness to angst and overthinking, Gail took to leaving books open on her dining room table, giving him the chance to put some new thoughts in his head besides the encroaching fear of the unknown mixing with what little he did know. A hymnbook, the Bible, Pilgrim's Progress, her book on insects, a few collections of poems by Ari Henderson, and a few of the novels they had—Robinson Crusoe, Sense and Sensibility, and Doctor of Grimfeld Hall—were rotated in stacks throughout the next few days. She wanted to put out something more specific, but she had no idea what kind of literary taste Samuel had. He didn't pay the books much attention, but he did flip through the hymnbook at one point, looking for "Rock of Ages."
Turning the pages him much more difficulty now than they had before, in the church.
The atmosphere in the house became something of a growing storm cloud. Something was going to give, had to give, but when, or how, or what remained a looming mystery, demanding unknown resolutions.
Later on, she left a pen and paper on the table, near the books—but he had trouble picking up the pen and maneuvering it properly. That Monday, after she had asked her pastor for prayer, he came to her for help in writing down what they knew so far; perhaps it would help him make sense of… something.
She obliged.
There wasn't much to put down.
To start the paper off with, there were the strange places he had mentioned before, the unknown presence of the friend that had been with him, the vague recollections of a place like Santa Juliana, and (at Gail's prompting) the fact that he was familiar with electrical workings to some extent. Gail was going to say "to a great extent," but she knew nothing of the matter, and as such could not helpfully gauge his knowledge. He, naturally, did not remember if he knew much or not.
After some back and forth and questioning, they also wrote down several aspects of his physical appearance—that his eyes changed shade and amount of color, and that to Gail's eyes his shoulder was torn and bore dried blood, while he could not notice it at all. Upon further observation, they found that Gail could see a decent amount of dried blood matted in his hair, below his ponytail, while he could neither feel it, nor see it (discovered once they managed to finagle the mirrors). They both seemed to agree on the state of his clothes, though: scuffed and dirty, but not in a terrible state.
They noted down that he could interact with real objects, but not affect them much. Gail could touch him, and he could feel it, faintly, and her sensation of him did not seem to be of a normal physicality. Samuel got hung up on the fact that she distinctly felt him as warm.
"That doesn't feel right, somehow," he said. "Maybe it isn't so, but I thought death was associated with cold?"
“I wouldn’t know,” Gail replied, shrugging. “I can’t say as I’d rightly know what the state of the dead is, myself.”
At least for now, he seemed to be in a steadier, more objective mood towards the idea of being dead.
"Hypothetically, I should know," he said wryly. "And yet…” He gestured to himself. “However, warmth could be possibility since I am a kind of… I guess… energy? Energy often produces warmth, so maybe that’s why."
"I can't say as I rightly know about that, either," Gail chuckled. "But I'll take your word for it."
After even further debate and discussion, they also discovered that his sight of the world more or less depended on how colored his eyes were. Times that Gail could remember them being colorless, he could remember as the world around him turning murky and only patches of indistinct light and shapes.
He muttered something about energy and color and light that Gail neither understood, nor write down.
But despite all that they wrote down, Samuel was not pleased.
"I guess… I don't know. It's all information, and that's good, but, well, I don't know what to do with it. What does it mean? I… I guess I thought it would help, but it hasn’t really done anything except occupy time."
"It’s at least a start." Gail set the pen down and surveyed the single page they'd filled. "Perhaps now that we're both paying attention, we may begin to see and understand something more from all this. I don't rightly know what, just yet, but it's more information than we started out with."
Samuel nodded, still frowning.
"I wonder if I could find where you lived, if you truly are from Santa Juliana," Gail said, tapping at the table. "Though we have precious little detail to go off of. The sort of thing as you’ve described in the past could be found in a hundred places in this city alone.”
Samuel hesitated. "Maybe we could go and visit the city? But I… I don't know if anyone else can see me. I suppose I could be rather… alarming, if I have blood on me."
"True. So far you've only interacted with me that you can remember, and we haven't tested out anything further. Though, as far as I know, I'm not special in the way as sees ghosts. Or at least, this would be the first I'd know of it."
Samuel considered this for a bit. "I suppose we may want to test my visibility somehow before going to town?" He bit his lip.
"Does the idea concern you?" Gail asked.
"I… I suppose it does. I don't know of any strong logical reasons as to why it would, but… the thought of it almost frightens me. Less just the idea of meeting someone new, and more the idea of going into town. I guess… there are a lot of unknowns. At least, that would be the best I can figure out. And, well, going and being seen would be bad, but going and not being seen would be just as bad somehow. For it to be further confirmed that I’m… not here.” He pulled at the hem of his waistcoat, and moved to fidget with the buttons of it. “But… I… I do think going to town is perhaps the best next step.""Perhaps," Gail said. He was having trouble standing in place, and his hands kept moving, fiddling with different parts of his outfit. "But we have time enough, I think. You've stayed here for a good while, so I don't feel you in danger of running your time out. If you were, I believe we would have noticed something to that effect before now. So we can wait and see, and test out if others can see you first, and then move forward from there. Decide whether we can just go about town, or else disguise you, or something of that nature."
Something tickled the corner of her mind about another plan they had made, to go somewhere, but it was refusing to take shape.
Samuel sighed. "But test it how?"
Gail tapped the side of her chin. "Well, my husband was delayed some in returning, but since the letter took a few days to get here, I suppose he might be almost back on schedule. We can wait for him to get back. If we need something sooner, or the delay is severe, I suppose we could ask Pastor Jeremiah to come over for some tea and cakes. And once that's done, I can take the terrarium in for Mrs. Oberson as a reason to go all the way into Santa Juliana. She lives rather on the outskirts, but we can make a detour or two. Perhaps even stop by the university—though I don't know if we could see my daughter on such short notice. But we can find another excuse."
"That… that sounds like a good idea," Samuel said. Worry still pinched at his eyebrows, but he made no attempts to alter the plan.
Instead, he began pacing. Gail went back to her chores, unsure of anything else she could do. It was once again time to dust the house from top to bottom, and so she started with the desk and moved most of what was on it to the dining room table.
The terrarium for Mrs. Oberson she left near the edge of the table, so she could see it easier, making a mental note to spray it with a bit of water after dusting.
It seemed like it was doing well, which was encouraging.
Samuel’s pacing ended with him in front of the table, looking over the terrarium.
"I was thinking," he said, leaning over it, "about the idea with the lights. I don't really know how well this would work, but if you had some kind of shade that focused it more outward? So that it wouldn't get the moss. But well, then it would end up more as a… a spotlight than a lamp. And that might be totally unnecessary if there are lights that help plants."
There was strain in his posture and voice—probably trying to distract himself, Gail decided.
"If it were more for spectacle than light," he continued, "you could probably use a very small light, mostly just to highlight colors and setting than actually illuminating things. Like… maybe inside of it, in the moss. Or maybe… pair it with some kind of colored glass, I don’t know. Or maybe if it’s just a problem of it drying out, you'd could water the moss more? Though you'd also have the problem of watering the moss and not activating the electricity. That could be as simple making sure the circuits are properly covered. Or maybe a light ringing around the opening or hanging above it instead of a light inside of it. That would be simpler. I don’t know why I was thinking of a light coming up out of the moss. Though that could maybe look interesting."
He picked up a large old lightbulb that Gail had kept, wondering if she or Michael could make a terrarium small and delicate enough to fit inside it. It was dusty with disuse and its years being spent waiting for another day. Holding it was a struggle for him, light as it was, but he managed. He examined it, noted that it was broken, set it down again.
Gail wasn't quite sure what he could do or what he was even trying to do—he’d never actually interacted with her electric system before, much less the lights specifically, and he seemed even more scattered than usual—but she paused in her dusting to get him a new one. It could do him good to mess around with something new.
He barely noticed—lost in thought, muttering to himself, with a focused and tired look about his eyes—but nodded thanks when she passed him on her way back to the desk.
Samuel gave a strangled yelp.
Gail whirled, to see the lightbulb fizzling on in his hand. He dropped it, flailed to catch it, missed.
"I… I'm so sorry," he gasped, "I didn't mean—”
He froze, eyes wide, the broken lightbulb rolling at his feet.
"It's alright," Gail said soothingly, "it was an accident. No harm done."
The color was seeping out of his eyes—the lightbulb sparked and fizzed.
Gail took a step towards him, to reassure him, to move past and grab the broom by the kitchen door.
Samuel jumped backwards at the movement, flailing again—his arm hit the edge of the terrarium with more force than either of them dreamed he was capable of. The terrarium spun, slid off the table, and crunched to the floor with a spray of broken glass and wet soil.
"Oh no," Samuel wailed—and vanished.
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coffincoitus · 6 months
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I've been ignoring/giving monosyllabic answers to my father for months now and he's so withered and desperate from the lack of narcissistic resources his new tactic is that he's trying to force me to see a therapist... with him in the room. he thinks there's a therapist out there who will allow that to happen hdhdhhd
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ginhaku125 · 1 year
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I...don't know...???
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postsfromthedark · 2 years
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Five's gonna start a fight and immediately get his ass added to him bc he can't blink anymore and he relies on that in fights
And in life
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msboutofcontext · 2 years
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tetsuwan-atom · 1 year
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Leland.png
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drumlincountry · 5 months
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I was at a Palestinian solidarity gig last night & the one Palestinian artist who was going to perform had COVID so the organisers asked around to see if there were any Palestinians who'd like to say a few words instead.
A local guy who was born & raised in Gaza offered to speak. He started with "I'm an engineer. i'm not a poet or a politician. I don't... do public speaking… I had no idea what to say when I came up here. So i'm just going to tell you about the street I grew up on."
And then he did! He went down the street building by building. He told us about the ice cream shop on the corner, the grocery shop, the charity that supports people with intellectual disabilities. He told us about the people who he knew growing up, the families who still live in the different houses. He told us about the university buildings and about his friends who quit being accountants to start a band together. All on that street.
All of which is gone now, by the way. Bombed to dust.
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artkaninchenbau · 9 days
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A h-heartfelt reunion..?
Bonus
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tariah23 · 21 days
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The manga industry, especially JUMP, needs to hurry up and do away with weekly scheduling for mangaka. There needs to better regulations put into place for their health and safety because this is pitiful. Two weeks - monthly updates should’ve already been the standard for the manga industry at this point. These money grabbers will only continue to put the lives of these artists at stake for the sake of capitalism unless some serious changes are implemented.
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mini-minish · 26 days
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have you heard of that new hot spot in ba sing se 🍵
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snake-feeder · 6 months
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all i'm saying is that the only thing you have to do to defeat wheatley is to just (1) portal on ground (2) portal on ceiling directly above it (3) drop him in. it's just that easy.
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jameszmaguire · 7 months
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I think it would be better for everyone if I were to be left alone in the future. Don't you?
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i-mode · 2 months
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silly
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